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SCIENCE FICTION

JANUARY 1952
354

ANC

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I

Opfetclelde

■t

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CUti'iov

Lute
MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS

Lemming

Skliik

Peba
ANIMALS

Leipoa

Stanhope

Landitt

Mcropf

Shrike
BIRDS

Clarence

Britzska

VEHICLES

Also

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TREES • ETC

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Galaxy

SCIENCE FICTION

Edilor H. L GOLD

Assistant Editor

EVELYN PAIGE

Art Director

'. t, VAN DER POEL

Advertising Manager

JOHN ANDERSON

Cover by

DON SIBLEY

Illustrating

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

GALAXY $ dene* Fhticn
is published monthly, by
Galaxy Publishing Corpo-
ration. Main offices : 421.
Hudson Street, New York
14, N. Y. 35c per copy.
Subscriptions: (12 cop-
ies) $3.50 per year in the
United States, Canada,
Mexico, South and Cen-
tral America and U.S.
Possessions. Elsewhere
f4.50. Entered as second-
class matter at the Post
Office, New York, N. V.
Copyright, 1951, by Gal-
axy Publishing Corpora-
tion. Bernard Kaufman,
president. A. L. Plant,
treasurer. All rights,

including translation, re-
served. All material sub'
imtted must be accompanied
by self-addressed stamped
envelopes. The publisher
assumes no responsibility
for unsolicited material.
All stories printed in this
rkiagazine are fiction, and
a n> similarity between char-
acter! and actual persons
iw coincidental*

JANUARY, 1952

Vol. 3, No. 4

CONTENTS

BOOK-LENGTH SERIAL- Installment 1

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

by Alfred Besier 4
NOVELETS

THE GIRLS FROM EARTH

by Frank M. Robinson 80

HALLUCINATION ORBIT

by J. T. M'lntosh 132
SHORT STORIES

DEAD END

by WaUace Macfarlane 67

THE FURIOUS ROSE

fay Dean Evans 103

THE ADDICTS

by William Morrison 122

FEATURES

EDITOR'S PAGE

by H. L Gold 2

FORECAST 114

GALAXY'S FIVE STAR SHELF

by Groff Conklin 115

Printed in th« U. 5. A. R«fl, U. S. Pot. Off.

Gloom 6t Doom

IT'S a depressing experience
to sit at a desk and read
story after story filled with
pessimism and despair. The
temptation is strong to write ;
"Look, fellers, the end isn't here
yet* It probably won't come, any
more than the frantic prophecies
of history occurred, including
Wells's dismal forecasts of the
world wars. Why not buck up
and see the positive trends as
well as the harrowing ones?"

The fact is that I've written
that letter, or something similar,
to any number of writers.

Net result;

Over 90% of stories submitted
still nag away at atomic, hydro-
gen and bacteriological war, the
post-atomic world, reversion to
barbarism, mutant children killed
because they have only ten toes
and fingers instead of twelve,
world dictatorships, problems of
survival wearily turned over to
women, war, more war, and still
more war — between groups, na-
tions, worlds, solar systems.

If it weren't so tiresome, it
might be funny to see our transi-
tory political rivalries carried into
the remotest futures. I've been
having the experience, while read-
ing books to select for the GAL-
AXY Novels series, to find old
stories seriously debating the

troubles that we of the middle
20th Century were to have had
with an arrogant Kaiser, fanati-
cal Chinese Boxers, even a Na-
poleon. These books are dated
enough in scientific and sociologi-
cal ways, but the extension of
long-resolved political questions
into the future makes them al-
most laughable.

Does that minimize the threats
that existed then, or our present
world situation? Certainly not.
Neither is it escapism to project a
future in which democracy vs.
communism is no longer an is-
sue. There is no way of knowing
how long it will take that diffi-
culty to be resolved, nor even —
personal hopes aside — how or in
whose favor. But there can be no
doubt that it will become a part
of history, along with slavery Vs,
feudalism, and feudalism vs.
democracy, bloomers and one-
piece bathing suits for women.

Science fiction has a more im-
portant job than to warn of
doom. Its function is not to
spread joy and optimism, either.
The first is the province of news
"analysts" and politicos, scien-
tists with guilty consciences and
the opponents of progress in any
form. The second — brainlessly
eager optimism — is dispensed
adequately by light fiction and

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

popular articles informing us that
disasters can be fun.

As I've said before, science fic-
tion should present possible de-
velopments based on present
tendencies or trends, to answer
in dramatic terms the unstated
cfUestion: "What would happen
if—?"

Good Lord, the world today is
loaded with if s ! So crammed,
crowded, bulging with ifs jostling
each other, in fact, that it's a pure
bafflement to see writers turning
the same ones over and over,
looking for some new bump never
before noticed on the use- worn
surfaces.

If this applied only to new
authors, it would warrant patient
encouragement and no worry —
just let them get past the obvious
ideas and they'd be all right. But
the most consistent practitioners
of the trite are many established
writers who should be making
their greatest contribution now,
with science fiction becoming so
important a phenomenon that
even the Russians had to pause
between walkouts to term it a
sign of capitalist degeneration!

Actually, the growth of the
field has paradoxically interfered
with its growth. The movies, TV,
slick magazines and book pub-
lishers have been concentrating
on the sensational, or cataclys-
mic, aspects. Enough new maga-
zines have been started to pro-

vide a market for almost any
story, no matter how unreadable,
by any writer with a known
name. Why should they knock
themselves out to meet the high
standards of GALAXY? They do
not make as much per word, but
the volume of sales supposedly
compensates.

There is an answer to that, but
it's not visible to anyone too busy
exploring the explored to see the
less apparent.

One after another, the new
magazines — and many of the old
— are dying of literary cirrhosis.
The cause? Poisoning due to de-
cayed fiction.

There is a double solution to
this quandary: established writers
in many cases will have to revise
their standards — and stories —
and new authors must be in-
duced to enter the field.

GALAXY is trying fervently
to accomplish both objectives.
Known authors who depend only
on their names to sell inferior
fiction are finding no market in
GALAXY; new authors who are
willing to dig for ideas and fresh
treatments are getting an enthusi-
astic, cooperative welcome.

Cato noticed 2,000 years ago

that the world was going to the

dogs. If he were alive now, he'd

accept the present as a good sub*

stitute for Paradise atomic

threat or no atomic threat!

— EL L GOLD

GLOOM * DOOM

liUWIB

■

HE DEMOLISHED

Beginning A 3-Part Serial

Rich and powerful, Ben Reich
in a society where fe/epaffi*

IN the inconceivable finiten&ss
of the universe there is noth-
ing new, nothing different. It
is a question of statistics, and

•^*^K'* : i|M&|

v^7

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

H« *

MAN

By ALFRED BESTIR ^, * ,

* #

was a cr/minaf who couldn't possibly foil,
made it unlikely for criminals to succeed!

"Vv

what may appear exceptional to
the minute mind of man may be
inevitable to the infinite Cosmic
Eye. What appears to be unique

may be commonplace. This
strange second in a Jife m „ . that
unusual event . . . those remark-
able coincidences oi environment,

Illustrated by DON SIBLEY

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

■i

opportunity, encounter or re-
encounter . . . ail ot them may foa
reproduced precisely and exactly
over and over again on the planet
of a sun in the Galaxy that re-
volves once in two hundred mil*
lion years and has revolved nine
times already.

There are and have been worlds
and cultures without end, each
perhaps ^unaware ot the sobering
mortification of statistics} nurs-
ing the proud illusion that it is
unique, irreplaceable, irrepro-
duceable* There have been men
without end, suffering from the
same megalomania, who have
made nations and worlds suffer
too. There wilt be mote, more
plus infinity. This is the story of
such a man . . . The Demolished
Man.

ON Sol Double -3 (for the Cos-
mic Eye sees Earth and her
moon as a planetary binary) in
January of 2103, Edward Turn-
bul of Coates Teachers College
decided to explore the Hysterisis
Enigma for his research thesis.
The Reamur Variations on the
Einstein Post-mortem Equations
had suggested a paradox which
no one had bothered to explore.
Atomic research had bypassed it;
and what are the dead ends of
science for if not to provide harm-
less occupation for graduate stu-
dents? Turnbul studied the
original research,, ran a few du-

plications and then tinkered with
the apparatus.

Get the picture: A serious
young man, fat, sallow, a genuine
bore-. A Phi Beta Kappa anes-
thetising his frustrations in a lab-
oratory. A magnet is his sweet-
heart; caulds of X-27 Duplexor
are his conjugal embraces. He
tinkers at midnight and subli-
mates his maladjustments in the
excitement and suspense of the
experiment. Will it work? Can he
really develop m commercial
process, earn a million dollars
and overpower women with this
uncontestable proof of his viril-
ity?

Turnbul unwraps a sandwich,
aping the dashing insouciance of
fictional heroes, then pulls the
switch* The experiment works.
Thirty -two pounds of apparatus
and a liter of methylene dimethyl
iether loft up from the bench and
smash against the ceiling. Turn-
but has stumbled on something
they just missed a century ago . . .
anti -gravity. Unique? No. Inevi-
table. In the infinity of a universe
crawling with searching, inquir-
ing, experimenting creatures, this
had happened, was happening
and would happen beyond the
count of simple integers. Statis-
tics made it inevitable.

Forget Turnbul. He is not your
protagonist. If you identify with
him, you will be lost in this story,
as Turnbul hifhself is lost in the

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

shifting pattern that produced
the Demolished Man. Turnbul
patented; he was sued. He fought
in courts for fifteen years with in-
adequate counsel and the patent
was broken. Turnbul was notori-
ous enough by that time to re-
ceive a full professorship at the
Institute. He married a librarian,
raised children, taught miserably,
and jealously inspected each new
textbook, content if credit for
Nulgee was paid him in footnote
or appendix.

JN September of 2110, Galen
' Gart's wife died. She was a
tall, lustrous, remote woman, and
he had loved her deeply for thirty
years. They had been a devoted

couple, and in the course of their
marriage had grown to resemble
each other, as couples often do.
It was hard to distinguish their
handwriting, their voices, their
jokes.

"We even think silike," Gart
used to say. "Half the time I an-
swer her before I realize she
hasn't had a chance to speak her
thoughts/* And after her death
he said : "What's the use of going
on? We were part of each other.
We didn't need words. How can
anyone else give me the same in-
timacy?"

But Galen Gart, fifty, desolate,
prematurely aging, met a pun-
gent child of twenty with an- ex-
citing poitrine, a satin skin, and

the infantile nickname of Duffy,
and they were married six months
after the funeral,

"You're not so old in the dark"

"Why, Duffy!" exclaimed Mr.
Gart. "What a nice thing to say."

"But I didn't say anything.**
Nor had she.

It was a year before Mr. Gart
realized that it was he who didn't
need words. It became his joke,
bis little parlor trick, a quaint
trait.

"So this is the famous Galen
Gart. Mind reader? Imposs.
Tricks. Cant fool me. Cant read
my mind/*

"But I can, dear lady. I can.*

"You ca — But I didn't say it.

I—"

"Hey! Everybody! Gart's done
it again."

"Look at her blush."

"What's she thinking, Gart?"

"Why's she blushing?"

"The lady," Mr. Gart smiled,
"is thinking that I'm laughing at
her. She's blushing because I'm
telling her I admire her. She has
one of the loveliest minds I have
ever met."

Laughter.

Oh yes; laughter at the quaint
trait when gentle, tactful, cour-
teous Mr. Gart performed his
parlor trick. But the trait was an
extracted recessive that appeared
in his son.

There was no more laughter
when the amoral animal that

THE

EMOLISHED MAN

child is discovered it had inher-
ited Extra Sensory Perception and
used it brutally. Galon Gart, Jr.,
turned laughter to tears, and
many texts were written about
his lurid criminal career that
ended with his murder. And
Galen Gart, Jr., Esper black-
mailer, confidence trickster and
thief, helped produce The De-
molished Man.

THE vacant lot across the way
from Sheridan Place was fi-
nally sold, and Space Clubs, Inc.,
was forced to move its Raffle
Office and prizes to Brooklyn.
Their funds barometer, a minia-
ture explosive rocket hanging
halfway up an illuminated col-
umn calibrated in thousands of
dollars, was abandoned. The lot
was turned into a block of experi-
mental al fresco stores, without
walls or roof, protected from the
elements and casual theft by
the new Donaldson Resistance
Hedge, an invisible bubble of ra-
diation that scintillated in wet
weather with the prismatic glitter
of oil on water.

The center shop, alongside the
entrance to the Pneumatique Sta-
tion, was taken in 99 year lease
by Wilson Winter, an ambivalent
artist turned bookseller, who pur-
chased one lot of odds and ends
for the benefit of literature, and
Conducted a thriving trade in
pornography for the benefit of his

purse. Among the worthless items
in the odds & ends was Lefs Play
Party by Nita Noyes. It collected
dust on the shelf until it was
bought by The Demolished Man.

REALISM IS 4TH DIMENSION

OZ-4 TON QUINN, brilliant
*- young producer of Pantys, at'
tributes his phenomenal success
to close attention to detail* In
an exclusive interview with yr re*
corder tie said: " People forget
that 'Panty* is slang for Emo-
tional Pantograph, When you get
five thousand people into a the-
atre to see a Panty performance,
you cant make them feet love,
hate, horror . . . You cant Gestalt
them unless you put authentic d<
tail on the Passion tape"

Quinn, lithe and enthusiast!
waved hie hands creatively. "Too
many producers think that Pari-
ty a are a three-dimensional me
dium , . , sight, sound & sensa-
tion. To me, Pantys are four di-
mensional and my fourth dimen-
sion is realism. Every prop, every
costume, every bit of cloth, metal,
china, plastic and so on in my
productions is authentic. And the
public feels it. Here, look at this

• •

The brilliant young producer
showed us a glittering bit of steeL
"You won't recognize it" he
smiled, "until youve seen Mur-
der's Memory Bank. This is the

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

only one of its kind in existence.
A rare French folding pistol.
Watch: 9

He pressed the gadget. There
Was a vicious click. The steel un-
folded like a flower. A stiletto
point appeared, an explosive miiz-
zle, and four heavy steel rings
which, Quinn explained, were
knuckledusters.

"A fistful of murder; 9 Flaton
said enthusiastically. "Wait until
you re in your seat at the pre-
view. You feel the knife* You
feel the bullet tear into your
heart. You feel all the pain and
horror of peril and passion. It's
sensational. Ifs all in my new
Panty, Murder's Memory Bank.**

Platon Quinn refolded the pis-
tol, replaced it in the desk and
forgot it. He forgot it when he
left the hotel. It remained for-
gotten until it was used by The

Demolished Man.

* * *

A NT I -Gravity or Nulgec was
■**■ explored, developed and ex-
ploited. It smashed one industrial
world and created five others.
Among a million entrepreneurs
scrabbling Phoenixlike in the
ruins, it was adopted by "The 7
Sacrament Brothers,", a tingle-
truck moving firm owned and op-
erated by a lone brother named
Reich. Reich was a thin young
man, equipped with a fishy eye,
cannibal ambitions and a mini*
mum of social responsibility.

Nulgee was also adopted by
Space Clubs, Inc., who were hav-
ing difficulty raising funds. In-
dustry shrugged, preferring to
leave the wild pioneering to
fools. Who wants to speculate on
probabilities? What commercial
advantage can there be in reach-
ing the arid Moon or the icy me-
thanated planets? Who sponsored
Cayley, Henson, Stringfellow,
Chanute, Santos-Dumont, the
Wrights? Also, there were several
wars pending, and the armies
were fighting to stifle Nulgee for
insecure reasons of security.

Meanwhile, there was Alan
Courtney. After divorcing his
twelfth wife,* Courtney started
looking around for a new kind of
hyper-thyroid release. He had
enough money to bore him, and
that was enough to start building
a starship. His statement to the
press announced that he was off
to search the stars for an ideal
wife. The press was indifferent to
Mr. Courtney and he was piqued.
Out of spite he finished the ship,
and out of drunkenness he took
off.

He never returned. No one be*
Heved he'd left. Five years later*
most people were asking: "What
ever happened to marrying Alan
Courtney?" And people were an-
swering: "He's living in Santa Fc^
isn't he? Married again, prob*
ably."

There was also Glen Tuttle, •

THE DEMOLISHED MA

renegade psychotic who fleeced
his wife and in-laws, bilked his
creditors, defrauded his friends,
and, in a final attempt to jump
out of the frying pan, constructed
a flimsy starship on credit and
lofted to space unknown. Tut tie
also never returned. His escape
was never believed. Space Clubs
was still talking about funds for
the first ship to carry men to the
Moon.

There were, in addition, Al-
medo Zigerra, Joan Turnbul,
Fritz Wonchalk. Speeman Van
Tuerk and a few others . . , mal-
adjusted, incapable of social com-
promise, escapists all - • . which
is to say, pioneers all. They left
Earth one by one with varying
publicity, little recognition, and
never returned. Space Clubs Inc.
cheered the donation of $100,000
by a transportation magnate
named Reich, arid predicted that
man would soon leave Earth for
his first journey into space. It had
already taken place. It had al-
ready produced The Demolished
Man.

SHE came through the door
into the quiet consultation
room and looked around. She was
a drab woman, forty, faded,
frightened. She Saw the man be-
hind the desk, a young man with
black hair, black eyes, and Duf-
fy's white satin skin.

"Come in, madam. Be seated.*

His voice was low, slightly harsh,
as though it contained conflicts
under compression.

"Thank you." She lowered her-
self painfully. "Looks too slick.
Thief -type. Hannerly said the
gay might be legitimate. Not &
chance. My recorder on? Right."

"Your name, madam?*'

"My name? Rhoda Rennsaeler,
buster, when you read it in the
byline. I'm Mrs. Thomas Nolles.
Elvira is my given name."

"And your problem, Mrs.
Nolles?"

"Well, I keep hearing those
voices in my ear all the time talk-
ing to me. So I thought a doctor
could—"
1 "I'm not a doctor, madam. Un-
derstand that. I do not practice
medicine. I merely advise my
friends. You may call call me
mister. Mr. Lorry Gart."
1 "Cautious, aren't you? But 111
get you, buster, don't ever imag-
ine I won't"

"Your problem, Mrs. Nolles?"
Gart repeated.

"It's these voices. I hear them
telling me I'm God. 'And if you
can resist that come-on, you're a
smarter crook than I think. I can
pay for the treatment. I've got a
roll of bills you'll drool for, you
cheap quack"

"Provided by Mr. Hannerly?

"Oh, no. It's my savings. I —
She stopped short.

Gart nodded and smiled. "Be-

»►

»#

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

ginning to understand, Mrs.
Rennsaeler?"

*7 never said it. Never!"

"No, of course you didn't. Nor
your name. You do understand,
don't you? Now let's be practical,
Mrs. Rennsaeler. I'm not a
quack. You won't expose me.
You'll forget all about this epi-
sode,"

"But what in God's name are
you?"

"A mind-reader . . • telepath
. . . esper. I have Extra Sensory
Perception, Mrs. Rennsaeler —
ESP. I still haven't decided what
to call myself." He looked at her
quizzically/ "I'd welcome a sug-
gestion from an experienced re-
porter."

"The touse! Reading every-
thing in my mind. Stop thinking!
Why can't I stop thinking? k -He J s
listening. Like a Peeping Tom*
Peeping. He — " »

"Mrs. Rennsaeler, stop that!"
Gart spoke sharply. He arose
from his chair and stepped
around the desk to her. "Listen
to me. Don't be afraid. You feel
the privacy of your shame is
being invaded. That makes you
hostile. But you have nothing to
be ashamed of, Mrs. Rennsaeler.
We're all alike inside our minds.
AH of us. I know. I've found that
out."

She stared up at him in terror,

"Believe me." He nodded and
grinned painfully. "Shall I tell

you my shames, my secret fears
and vices, my terrors? Shall we
be brothers below the conscious
threshold? My father was a crim-
inal . . . Gftlen Gart Jr., a tele-
pathic blackmailer, a cheat, a
man who read minds to destroy
people. He was murdered. I have
in me the same extra sense, the
ability to read minds . . , not
deeply, but deeply enough. It's an
ability tempted by greed, vicious
hatred of society, compulsions to
shock and destroy people . , .
compulsions to destroy myself,*

"I don't understand." She
shook her head. "I don't under-
stand at all."

"I'm stripping myself psycho-
logically naked for you, Mrs,
Rennsaeler, It's my defense
against your hostility. I'm hoping
that you can help me become
something more than a baekstreet
conjurer. You're experienced in
public relations."

"No," she said. "No. I came
here to expose a quack. I — "

"Listen to me. I use my ability
to help confused people. They
come to me , . . the poor sick
ones . . . so sick they can't dis-
cover their problems. I do only
one thing for them, I help them
recognize their problems. While
they talk, I listen to their broken
thoughts. While they wander and
flounder in confusion, I pick out
the pieces, the artifacts . , . I
tell them what their crisis is. I

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

make them see it I wrap up their
problem in a neat parcel and
place it in their hands. They can
carry it to the nearest analyst
for solution, though that's gen-
erally not necessary."

"Then you're no quack/*

"No, Mrs. Rennsaeler, I'm not
And you believe me, That much
I can read in your mind. You
believe me and you want to help
me. Isn't that true?"

After a long pause she said:
"Yes, you damned peeper. I be-
lieve you and I want to help
you/'

Gart took her hand. "YouVe
started helping me already.

You've given me my name/*

# # *

The Geoffrey Reich, first
manned ship to reach the Moon,
discovered Glen Turtle's ship and
body in the center of a seventy-
mile bed of Haines* Stellite val-
ued at $6.83 a pound. The airlock
of Turtle's ship was open and the
body sprawled at the entrance.
Poor Tuttle was so ignorant that
he never knew the Moon was air-
less. He had had time for one
quick glance at Mare Imbrium
before he suffocated. His body
was riddled with machine-gun
perforations from the meteoric
pellets that bombard the unpro-
tected Moon at 30 miles per sec-
ond.

♦ * *

MR. AS J: Counsel may cross-

examine the witness*

MR. LECKY: If it please the
court, at this time I would like
to introduce Dr, Walter Clark
E.M.D., as Esper Medical Ex-
pert to conduct the cross-exam-
ination of this hostile witness.

MR. AS J: Objection.

THE .COURT: What is your ar-
gument, Mr. Lecky?

MR. LECKY: I submit, your
honor, that in this Matter of
the Estate of Alan Courtney, a
sum exceeding twenty-five mil-
lion dollars is at stake. Al-
though I do not impugn the
conscious honesty of my oppo-
nent's witnesses, I suggest that
their recollection has been col-
ored by dollar signs.

MR. ASJ: Is counsel making an
argument or writing a Panty
scenario?

MR. LECKY: It is an estab*
lished fact that men remember
what they want to remember,
and forget what they want to
forget. They do this in all sin-
cerity. Objective truth does not
exist in the psychoanalytic
sense, and our courts have af-<
firmed and reaffirmed the psy-
choanalytic principle in a long
line of cases.

THE COURT : This court is ac-
quainted with the precedents,
Mr. Lecky, but the present
cause of action does not lie
with them.

MR. ASJ: There never yet hat

• AlAXY SC1ENCI MCT10M

been a case where a peeper was
admitted to give evidence, and
if counsel imagines he's going
to ring in a—

MR. LECKY: What are you
afraid of? If your witnesses are
telling the truth, my man will
peep them and confirm it. But
if they're lying as I suggest—

THE COURT: Gentlemen! Gen-
tlemen! Such exchanges cannot
be countenanced. The court is
cognizant of the fact that
Extra Sensory Experts perform
valuable services for society in
many walks of life . . . the
Esper Medical Doctor, the
Esper Attorney, the Esper Ed-
ucator, the Esper Criminolo-
gist . . . to mention only a few;
yet the Esper Expert cannot
properly be admitted to any
court to give Esper evidence for
the record.

MR, LECKY : It cannot be ruled
an invasion of privacy, your
honor, any more than a snap-
shot of a nude sunbather can
be ruled an invasion of mod-
esty. Three hundred years ago
the human body was imagined
to be a thing of shame. Con-
cealment was the strange cus-
torn of the day. Two hundred
years ago, the human mind was
imagined to be a thing of
shame. Concealment was the
strange custom of that time-
But we have progressed far be-
yond such medieval concepts*

THE COURT: Very true, Mr.
Lecky, but human justice has
not yet abandoned the estab-
lished principle that a man
cannot be used as a hostile
witness against himself. A man
cannot be forced to convict
himself of subconscious men-
dacity. Justice must always re-
main on the objective level. If
it does not, what would become
of the deluded innocents who
falsely believe in their own
guilt? How would the courts
reconcile their subjective con-
fessions with their objective

- innocence? The <5bjection is

sustained.

* * #

TN 2300, the Sacrament ill
■■■ carefully quartering the East
Quadrant o^ Mars for FO (fis-
sionable ore) discovered the re-
mains of~ marrying Alan Court-
ney. He had survived his landing
some two years, eking out his
dwindling supplies with lichens
and the dew that formed on the
surface of his starship. There
were scars and rust particles on
his tongue.

Evidently he had gone insane,
for they found his dessicated
body genuflected before a rock
on which the symbol of the Order
of Python had been cut.

The symbol, a serpent coiled
in an infinity sign, was ignored
in the reports, but they named a
city after him.

THE DEMOLISHED MAM

in honor of Alan Courtney, his
great-grandnephew, Samuel Dus,
took his name, took his twenty-
five million dollars and took up
residence in Courtney City on
Mars*

There were other reasons. Sam-
uel Dus-Courtney had been
mauled in a financial scrimmage
with old Geoffrey Reich III, and
was retiring to lick his wounded

bank account,

* • *

Joan Turnbul's ship, a con-
verted Empire submarine, fell
into the Three Body Problem,
and follows Jupiter in his eternal
course as one of the Trojans*
Passing Sacrament Liners some-
times waste enough fuel to give
their passengers a glimpse of her
staring skeletal face framed in a
crystal port. Sentimental virgins
often weep pretty tears at the sad
fate of the lovely (she was ugly
as sin) daughter of the discoverer

of Nulgee.

* * *

Van Tuerk smashed on Titan.
A D'Courtney tanker found him
inside his little spacecan, lying
broken on the deck on which he f d
chalked: Die Kunst ist lang, das
Leben kurz, die Gelegenheit
fliichtig. The D'Courtney ship
also found a forty billion dollar
crater of radiant magma.

"Magma Cum Laude," snorted
Ben Reich when he received the
news from Relations in Sacra-

ment Tower, but he was not
amused.

For Ben Reich is The Demol-
ished Man.

TXEMOLITION! Concussion/
*-* Explosion! The vault doors
hurst open. The Stellite spar kg
sizzle in showers oi sapphires and
diamonds. And deep inside, the
money is racked in golden stacks
ready for rape, rapine, loot. Who's
that? Who's inside the vault? Oh,
God! The Man With No Facet
Looking. Looming. Silent. Hor-

rible.

Run . . , Escape . . •

Run, or 77/ miss the Paris
Pneumatique and that girl wait*
ing for me with her flower face
and figure of passion. There's
time if I run. Call to the guard.
Urge him to hold the train. Run.
Urge him to —

But that isn't the guard before
the gate. The Man With No Facet
Looking. Looming. Silent. Terri-
fying.

Don't scream! Stop scream*
ing . . .

But he isn't screaming. He's
singing on that stage of sparkling
marble, while the music soars and
the lights burn and his cascading
voice envelopes the multitude out
there in the amphitheatre who—
But there y s no one. The great
shadowed pit • • . empty except

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

for one spectator. Silent. Staring.
Leering. Looming.

The Man With No Face!

This time his scream had
sound.

Ben Reich awoke.

He lay quietly in the hydro*
pathic bed while his heart shud-
dered and his eyes focused at ran-
dom on objects in the room. The
walls of green jade, the night*
light in the porcelain mandarin
whose head nodded interminably
if you touched him, the multi-
clock that radiated the time of
three planets and nine satellites,
the bed itself, a crystal pool flow-
ing with carbonated glycerine at
Speegee three and ninety-nine
point nine Fahrenheit

The door opened softly and
Jonas appeared in the gloom, a
shadow in puce sleeping suit, a
shade with the face of a horse
and the bearing of an undertaker,
'Again?" Reich asked.
Yes, Mr. Reich."

"Loud?"
Very loud, sir. And terrified.
'Damn your jackass ears,
Reich growled. "I'm never
afraid,"

"No. sir/ #

"Get out/'

"Yes, sir. Good night, sir."
Jonas stepped back and closed
the door.

Reich shouted: " Jonas!"

The valet reappeared,

"Sorry, Jonas."

*<•

ti'

*•

"Quite all right, sir."

"It isn't all right," Reich
charmed him with a smile, "Next
time I yell at you, yell right back.
Why should I have all the fun?"

"Oh, Mr. Reich . . ."

"Do that and you get a raise."
The smile again* "That's all,
Jonas. Thank you."

"Thank you, sir." The valet
withdrew.

Reich arose from the bed and
toweled himself before the cheval
mirror, practicing the smile.
"Make your enemies by choice/'
he muttered, "not by accident/*
He stared at the reflection: the
heavy shoulders, deep chest, nar-
row flanks, long corded legs . . .
the sleek head with wide eyes,
small chiseled nose, sm&ll sensi-
tive mouth scarred by ink placa-
bility.

"Why?" he asked. "I. wouldn't
change looks with the devil. I
wouldn't change places with God.
Why the screaming?"

He put on a gown and glanced
at the clock. It was a little after
six. He would give himself an
hour of analysis. The screaming
had to stop.

"But I'm not afraid/' he said.
"I'm never afraid."

He stepped down a corridor,
clacking his sandals sharply on
the silver floor, indifferent to the
slumber of his staff, unaware
that this early morning skeletal
clatter awakened twelve hearts to

THE D E MO LI SHED MA

hatred and dread. He thrust open
the door of his analyst's suite, en-
tered and at once lay down on
the couch.

Wilson Breen, E.M.D.2, was al-
ready awake and ready for him.
As Reich's staff analyst he slept
the 'nurse's sleep* in which he re-
mained en rapport with his pa-
tient and eould instantly be
awakened by his needs. That one
scream had been enough for
Breen. Now he was seated along-
side the couch, elegant in em-
broidered gown and sharply alert,
for his employer was generous
but -demanding,

"Go ahead, Mr. Reich."

"The Man With No Face
again," Reich said.

'Nightmares?"

'Peep me and find out! Sorry,
Childish of me. Yes, nightmares
again. I was trying to rob a bank.
Then I was trying to catch a
train. Then someone was singing.
Me, I think. I'm trying to give
you the pictures best I can. I
don't think I'm leaving anything
out . . * There was a long pause.
Finally Reich blurted: "Well?"

**You persist that you cannot
identify The Man With No Face,
Mr. Reich?"

#i How the hell can I? I never
ace it. AH I know is — "

*I think you can. You simply
will not*

^Listen * Reich burst out m
fuilty rage. **I pay you twenty

**■

**!

thousand a year. If the best you
can do is make idiotic state-
ments . . ."

*'Do you mean that, Mr. Reich,
or is it simply a part of the gen-
eral anxiety syndrome?"

"There is no anxiety," Reich
shouted. "I'm not afraid. I'm
never — " He stopped himself,
realizing the futility of ranting
while the deft mind of the peeper
searched underneath his aggres-
sive words. "You're wrong, any-
way," he said sulkily, "f don't
know who it is. It's a man with
no face. That's all."

"You've been rejecting the es-
sential points, Mr. Reich. You
must be made to see them. We'll
try a little free association. With-
out words, please. Robbery . . *

"Jewels - watches - diamonds -
stocks - bonds - sovereigns •
counterfeiting - cash - bullion -
dort . . ."

"What was that last again?**

"Slip of the mind. Meant to
think bort . . . uncut gem stones.* 9

"It was not a slip. It was a
significant correction ; or, rather,
alteration. Let's continue. Pncu-
matique . . ."

"Long car -compartments- air-
conditioned . . . That doesn't
make sense."

"It does, Mr. Reich. An uncon-
scious phallic pun. Read "heir*
for 'air* and you'll see it. Con-
tinue, please."

"You peeper snoopers are too

• AlAXY 1CIENCI FICTION

damned smart. Let's see, Pneu-
matique . . . train-underground*
compressed air -ultrasonic speed-
'We Transport You Into Tram*
ports', slogan of the — what the
hell is the name of that company?
Cant remember. Where 1 d the no*
tion come from anyway? 9 *

"From the pre-conscious, Mr
Reich, One more trial and you'll
begin to understand. Amphi-
theater . . ."

"Seats - pits - balcony - boxes -
stalls - horse stalls - Martian
horses - Martian Pampas . - m n

"And there you have it, Mr.
Reich, In the past six months
you've had ninety -seven night-
mares about The Man With No
Face. He's been your constant
enemy, frustrater and inspirer of
terror in dreams that contain
three common denominators * . .
Finance, Transportation, and
Mars. Over and over again * . .
The Man With No Face, and
Finance, Transportation and
Mars,"

"That doesn't mean anything
to me."

"It must mean something, Mr.
Reich, You must be able to iden-
tify this terrifying figure. Why
else would you attempt to escape
by rejecting his face?"

"I'm not rejecting anything."

"I offer as further clues the al-
tered word 'dort' and the forgot-
ten name of the company that
coined the advertising slogan 'We

t M

Transport You Intj

"I tell you I don't know who
it is." Reich arose abruptly from
the couch. "Your clues don't
help. I can't make any identifica-
tion."

"The Man With No Face does
not fill you with fear because he's
faceless. You know who he is.
You hate him and fear him, but
you know who he is."

"You're the peeper, damn you!
You tell me!"

"There's a limit to my ability,
Mr, Reich. I can read your mind
no deeper without help."

"What do you mean, help?
You're the best man I could hire.
If—"

"Mr. Reich, you deliberately
hired a 2nd Class Esper in order
to protect yourself in such an
emergency. Now you're paying
the price of your caution. If you
want the screaming to stop, you'll
have to consult one of the 1st
Class men — Augustus T8 or Gart
or Samuel @kins . . .*

"I'll think about it," Reich
muttered and turned to go. As he
opened the door, Breen called:
"By the way, 'We Transport You
Into Transports' is the slogan of
the D'Courtney Cartel. How does
that tie in with the alteration of
'borf to 'dort'? Think it over."

"The Man With No Face!"

Without staggering, Reich
slammed the door across the path
from his mind to Breen and then

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

lurched down the corridor toward
his own suite. A wave of savage v
hatred burst over him.

"Craye & Courtney. The Man
With No Face. He's right, the
smart son oi a bitch. It's
D*Courtney who's giving me the
screams. Not because Trn afraid
of him. Fm afraid of myself.
Known all along. Known it deep
down inside. Known that once I
faced it fd have to kill D' Court-
ney. He has no face because it's
the face of murder."

TT'ULLY dressed and in his
■^ wrong mind, Reich stormed
out of his apartment and de-
scended to the street where a Sac-
rament Jumper picked "him up
and carried him in one graceful
hop to the giant tower that
housed the hundreds of floors and
thousands of employees of Sacra-
ment's New York office.

Sacrament Tower was the cen-
tral nervous system of an in-
credibly vast corporation, a pyra-
mid of transportation, communi-
cation, heavy industry, manufac-
ture, sales distribution, research,
exploration, importation. Sacra-
ment bought and sold, made and
destroyed, traded and gave. Its
pattern of subsidiaries and hold-
ing companies was so complex
that it demanded the full-time
services of a 2nd Class Espcf Ac-
countant.

Reitji entered his office, fol-

lowed by his chief (Esper 3) sec-
retary and her staff, bearing the
litter of the morning's work.

"Dump it and jet," he ordered
surlily.

They deposited the papers and
recording crystals on his desk and
departed hastily but without ran-
cor. They were accustomed to his
rages. Reich seated himself be-
hind his desk, trembling with a
fury that was already goring
D'Courtney. Finally he mut-
tered: 'Til give the bastard one
more chance."

He unlocked his desk, opened
the drawer-safe and withdrew the
Executive's Code Book, restricted
to the executive heads of the firms
listed quadruple A-1-* by
Lloyd's, He found most of the

material he required in the mid-
dle pages of the book:

QQBA .PARTNERSHIP

kRCB ...... - ...KOI UUK

SSDC BOTH YOUR

TTED MERGER

UUFE .... .INTERESTS ,

WGF ... INFORMATION

WWHG ..... ...ACCEPT OFFER

XXI H GENERALLY KNOWN

YYJI

•«...«««•■. .....•..•••• ^

SUGGEST

ZZKJ .

AALIC -

KB ML

CONFIDENTIAL
EQUAL

■

CONTRACT

Marking his place in the code
book, Reich flipped the phone oa
and said to the image of the

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

interoffice operator: "Get me
Code."

The screen dazzled and cut to
a smoky room cluttered with
books and coils of tape. A
bleached man in a faded shirt
glanced at the screen, then leaped
to attention.

Yes, Mr. Reich?"
'Morning, Hassop. You look
like you need a vacation. Make
your enemies by choice. Take a
week at Ampro. Sacrament ex-
pense."

"Thank you, Mr. Reich. Thank
you very much/*

"This message is confidential.
To Craye D'Courtney. Relations
will tell you where to find him*
Send — " Reich consulted the
Code Book. Send YYJI TTED
RRCB UUFE AALK QQBA.
Get the answer to me like rock-
ets."

"Right, Mr. Reich. I'll jet/'

Reich cut off the phone. He
jabbed his hand once into the pile
of papers and crystals on his
desk, picked up a crystal and
dropped it into the playback. His
chief secretary's voice said: "Sac-
rament Gross off two point one
one three four per cent. D' Court-
ney Gross up two point one one
three oh per cent . . *

"Out of my pocket into his!'*
He snapped off the playback and
arose in an agony of impatience.
It would take hours for the reply
to reach Mars and return. His

whole life hung on D*Courtney f i
reply-
He left his office and began to
roam through the floors and de-
partments of Sacrament Tower,
pretending the remorseless per-
sonal supervision he usually ex-
ercised. His ^rhief secretary un-
obtrusively accompanied him like
a trained dog,

"Trained bitch!" Reich thought.
Then, aloud; "I'm sorry. Did you
peep that?*'

"Quite all right, Mr. Reich, I
understand/*

"Do you? I don't. God damn
D'Courtney!"

In Personnel they were testing,
checking and screening the usual
mass of job applicants , . . clerks,
craftsmen, specialists, middle-
'bracket executives, top drawer
experts. All the preliminary elim-
ination was done with standard-
ized tests and interviews* and
never to the satisfaction of Sacra-
ments Esper Personnel chief, who
was stalking through the floor in
an icy rage when Reich entered.
The fact that Reich's secretary
sent an advance telepathic an-
nouncement of the visit made no
difference to him.

"I have allotted ten minutes
per applicant for my final screen-
ing interview," the chief was
snapping to his worried crew.
"Six per hour. Forty-eight per
day. Unless my percentage of
final rejections drops below thir-

TH E DEMOLISHED MAN

ty-five, I am wasting my time;
which means that you are wast-
ing Sacrament's time. I am not
employed by Sacrament to screen
out the obviously unsuitable.
That is your work. See to it" He
turned to Reich and nodded pe-
dantically. "Good piorning-, Mr.
Reich/'

"Morning. Trouble?'*

"Nothing that cannot be han-
dled once this staff understands
that Extra Sensory Perception is
not a miracle but a skill subject
to wage-hour requirements. What
is your decision on Blogg, Mr.

Reich r

Secretary: "He hasrit read

your memo yet."

"May I point out, madam, that
unless I am used with maximum
efficiency, I am wasted. The
Blogg memo has been on Mr.
Reich's desk tor three days"
"Tell him about it now J 9
"It will consume three minutes
which will cost my department
fifteen hundred dollars. My time

is rated at — "

"Tell him anyway. He's in a
temper"

"Who the hell is Blogg?*
Reich asked.

"First, the background, Mr.
Reich: There are approximately
one hundred thousand 3rd Class
Espers in the Esper Guild, An
Esper 3 can peep the conscious
level of a mind. The 3rd can dis-
cover what a subject is thinking

at the moment of thought. The
3rd is the lowest class of tele-
paths. Most of Sacrament's se-
curity positions are held by 3rds.
We employ over five hundred . . *

"For God's sake, he knows all
this. Everybody dws. Get to the
point, long-winded!**

"Permit me to arrive at the
point in my own way, madam/ 9

"How did you ever get into
Personnel, gas-bag? You're m
born bad lecture/ "

"There are approximately ten
thousand 2nd Class Espers in the
Guild," the Personnel ehief con-
tinued frostily. "They are experts
like myself who can penetrate
beneath the conscious level of the
mind to the preconscious. Most
2nds are in the professional class
. . . physicians, lawyers, engi-
neers, educators, economists, ar-
chitects and so on."

"And you cost a fortune/*
Reich growled.

"We have unique service to
sell. Sacrament appreciates that
fact Sacrament employs over one
hundred 2nds at present."

"Will you get to the point? If
he wasn't so mad at D' Courtney,
he'd have your head off by now.* 9

"There are less than a thou-
sand 1st Class Espers in the
Guild. The lsts are capable of
deep peeping, through the con-
scious and preconscious layers
down to the unconscious, the low-
est levels of the mind. Primordial

GALAXY SCIENCE PICTIO

basic desires and so forth. These
Espers, of course, hold premium
positions. Education, specialized
medical service , . . analysts like
T8, Gart, @kins, Moselle . . .
criminologists like Preston Pow-
ell of the Psychotic Division . „ -
Political Analysts, State Negoti-
ators, Special Cabinet Advisers
and so on. Thus far Sacrament
has never had occasion to hire a
1st."

"And?" Reich demanded.

"The occasion has arisen, Mr.
Reich, and I believe Blogg may
be available. Briefly . „ "

"It says here: 9

"Briefly, Sacrament is hiring
so many Espers that I have sug-
gested we set up a special Esper
Personnel Department 1 , headed
by a 1st like Blogg to devote
itself exclusively to the work/'

"He's wondering why you can't
handle it"

"I have given you the back-
ground to explain why I cannot
handle the job, Mr. Reich. I am
a 2nd Class Esper- I can tele-
path normal applicants rapidly
and efficiently, but I cannot han-
dle other Espers with the same
speed and efficiency. All Espers
are accustomed to using mind
blocks of varying effectiveness
depending on their rating. It
would take me one hour per 3rd
for an efficient screening inter-
view. It would take me three
hours per 2nd. I could rtot pos-

*<*

stbly peep a 1st. We must hire *
1st like Blogg for this work. The
cost will be large, but the neces-
sity is urgent/

What's so urgent?" Reich said.
"For God's sake, don't give him
that picture/ He's sore enough
about D' Courtney "

"I have my job to do, madam"
To Reich, the chief said: "We arc
not hiring the best Espers, Mr.
Reich, The D'Courtney Cartel
has been taking the cream of the
Espers away from us. Over and
over again, through lack of prop-
er facilities, we have been tricked
by D' Courtney into bidding for
inferior people while D'Courtney
has quietly appropriated the
best."

"God damn you!** Reich
shouted. "God damn D'Court-
ney. All right, set it up. And tell
this Blogg to start mouse -trap-
ping D'Courtney. You*d better
start, too/'

He left Personnel and went
down to Sales, where a copy-
check was being run on an audi-
ence of one hundred people
selected at random from the
streets* They were seated in the
small theater, watching a test
run of advertising copy, while the
Esper Sales chief peeped their
reactions and responses. Warned
by Reich's secretary, he dropped
his work at once and came up to
Reich, his face perplexed and an-
noyed.

THE DEMOLISHED MA

^Morning, Mr. Reich.'
„ "Morning, Trouble?"

"Save it. Save it. Dont spill
anything"

"Got to, girlie. Ifs a crisis"

"Bub, you only think ifs a
crisis. The boss is* — H

"I wish you could peep that
audience, Mr, Reich. How does
D'Courtney do it?"

"Do what?"

"Build that hostility toward
us." The Sales chief waved at the
people in the chairs. "They think
all our products are shoddy sub-
stitutes for D* Courtney's. They
think every bit of our copy is an
outrageous lie. That damned
Cartel's instilled patriotism!
They feel it*d be an act of treach-
ery to settle for anything less
than D'Courtney."

"Who's handling their Public
Relations? Whoever it is, get
him."

"He's a she, Mr. Reich;' the
secretary said. "An Esper 2. And
incorruptible."

"Who said anything about cor-
ruption ?"

"You didn't say it, Mr. Reich,
but we tried."

"I'll fix him!" Reich shouted.

He stormed up to Propaganda,
where the department chief was
rapidly peeping a battery of field-
researchers, all 3rds, all back
from Continental Africa, and all
apparently with discouraging
news.

"Morning," Reich interrupted.
"Trouble?"

The Propaganda chief ignored
the secretary's warning and
nodded dismally. "Let's face it/'
he said. * 'We're being licked/'

"D'Courtney?"

"D'Courtney, You name any
place on any planet or satellite,
and that's where D'Courtney's
the Great White Father. If Sac
rament tried to give anything
away, they'd refuse to accept/ 1
f "We're dropping all campaigns
as of now. Never mind white-
washing Sacrament. Start mud-
slinging D'Courtney. I want
smear. Attack him. Villify him.
He robs banks. He rapes widows.
He cheats orphans. He — "

"Got your picture/' the peeper

interrupted. "What about slan-
der?"

"Who gives a damn for the
law? Let him sue. He'll be
smeared by the time he gets to
court. Pass the word for Legal to
meet in my office."

Reich returned to his office
where the Legal chief, forewarned
by the lightning telepathic grape-
vine, was already waiting with
Reich's picture in his mind.

"You can't do it, Mr, Reich/'
he said. "D'Courtney'll sue and
collect/'

"One way or another, D'Court-
ney 'II bust Sacrament wide opc-n
if we don't fight. Go peep Ac*
counting for the picture/*

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

I've got the picture from you,

sir.

ffT

"Then get back to your depart-
ment and start preparing a de-
fense. Propaganda's going to start
a full campaign . . . whisper,
Qvert, blatant, I'm using an old
fighting trick; If you can't attack
the argument, attack the man. I
want D'Courtney attacked, le-
gally and illegally. You're fore-
warned. We're going to break a
few laws . . ."

"A few hundred/*

"All right. Hit D'Courtney
with suits before he hits us. Ac-
cuse him of everything we're go-
ing to do to him. Start every civil
and criminal action against him
that we'll be guilty of. This is a
fight for survival. Pass the word
and get the hell out of here."

After the Legal chief was gone,
Reich paced in a fury for five
minutes, "It's no use," he mut-
tered. "I know I'll have to kill
the bastard. He won't accept.
Why should he accept? He thinks
he's licked me. Damn him, he has
licked me. All this is just loud
talk. I'll have to kill him. And
1*11 need some real help . . * peeper
help/'

He flipped on the phone and
told the operator:

"Relations."

A sparkling lounge appeared
on the screen, decorated in
chrome and enamel, equipped
with game tables and a bar dis-

penser. It appeared to be and
was used as a recreation center.
It was, in fact, headquarters of
Sacrament's powerful espionage
division. The Recreation director,
a bearded scholar named West f
looked up from a chess problem,
then leaped to attention.

"Good morning, Mr. Reich/'

Warned by the formal 'Mister'
Reich said: "Good morning, Mr.
West. Just a routine check. Pa-
ternalism, you know. How's
amusement these days?"

"Modulated, Mr. Reich. How-
ever, I must complain. I think
there's entirely too much gam-
bling going on." West stalled in
a fussy voice until two bona fide
Sacrament clerks innocently fin-
ished their drinks and departed.
Then he relaxed and slumped
into his chair. "All clear, Ben.
Shoot."

"Has Hassop broken the con-
fidential code yet, Ellery?"

npHE peeper shook his head
•■■ bitterly.

"Trying?"

West smiled and nodded.

"Where's D'Courtney?"

"En route to Terra, aboard the
Astra."

"Know his plans? Where hell
be staying?"

"No. Want a check?"
1 don't know. It depends , . *
'Depends on what?" West
glanced at him curiously, "I wish

THE DEMOLISHED MA

the Telepathic Pattern could be
transmitted by phone, Ben. I'd
like to know what you're driving
at."

Reich smiled grimly, "Thank
God for the phone. It protects us
from TP invasion. What's your
personal attitude toward crime,
Ellery?"

"Typical."

"Of anybody?"

"Of the Esper Guild. The
Guild doesn't like it, Ben."

"You're a sharp character,
Ellery. You know the value of
money, success. Why don't you
clever up? Why do you let the
Guild do your thinking?"

"You don't understand. We're
born in the Guild. We live with
the Guild. We die in the Guild.
We have the right to elect Guild
officers, and that's all, The Guild
runs our professional lives. It
trains us, grades us, sets ethical
standards and sees that we stick
to them. It protects us by pro-
testing the layman. Same as med-
ical associations. We have the
equivalent of the Hippocratic
Oath. It's called the Galen
Pledge. God help any of us if
we break it ... as I judge you're
suggesting I should."

"Maybe lam," Reich said in-
tently. "Maybe I'm hinting it
could be worth your while to
break the Guild pledge. Maybe
I'm thinking in terms of money
* . • more than you or any 2nd

Class peeper would see in a life-
time-"

"Forget it, Ben. Not inter-
ested."

"So bust your pledge. What
happens?"

"We're ostracized."

"Smart peepers have broken
with the Guild before. They've
been ostracized. What of it?"

WEST smiled wryly. "You
wouldn't understand, Ben."

"Make me understand."

"Those peepers you mention,
like Jeremy Church. They weren't
so smart. It's like this . . ." West
considered. "Before surgery really
got started, there used to be *
handicapped group called deaf-
mutes."

"No-hear no-talk?"

"That's it. They communicated
by a manual sign language. That
meant they couldn't communi-
cate with anybody but deaf-
mutes. Understand? They had to
live in their own community or
they couldn't live at all. A man
goes crazy if he can't have
friends."

"So?"

"Some of them started a rack-
et. They'd tax the more success-
ful deaf-mutes for weekly hand-
outs. If the victim refused to pay,
they'd ostracize him. The victim
always paid. It was a choice of
paying or living in solitary until
he went mad."

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

*«■

'You mean you peepers arc
like deaf-mutes?"

"No, Ben. You non-Espers are
the deaf-mutes. If we had to live
with you alone, we'd go mad.
Now for God's sake, leave me
alone. I've got work to do. If
you're planning something dirty,
I don't want to know."

West cut off the phone in
Reich's face. With a roar of rage,
Reich snatched up a gold paper-
weight and hurled it into the
crystal screen. Before the shat-
tered fragments finished flying,
he slammed the door of his office
and was on his way out of the
building.

TTIS secretary knew where he
-*■■*■ was going. His peeper chauf-
feur knew * where he wanted to
go. Reich arrived in his apart-
ment and was met by his peeper
house-supervisor, who at once an-
nounced early luncheon and
tuned the meal to Reich's un-
spoken demands. Feeling slightly
less violent, Reich stalked into
his study and turned to his safe,
which was a mere shimmer of
light in the corner.

It was simply a honeycomb
paper rack tuned out of temporal
phase with a single-cycle beat
Once a second, when the safe
phase and temporal phase co-
incided, the rack pulsed with a
brilliant glow. The safe could be
switched back into full temporal

phase only by the pore-pattern
.of Reich's right index finger,
which was irreproduceable.

Reich placed the tip of his
finger in the center of the glow.
It faded and the honeycomb rack
appeared. Holding his finger in
place, he reached up and took
down a small black notebook and
a large red envelope clearly let-
tered; TO BE OPENED IN CASE OF
MURDER.

He removed his index finger
and the safe pulsed out of tem-
poral phase again.

Reich flipped through the
pages of the notebook . . . abduc-
tion . . . ABORTION . . . ANAR-
CHISTS . . i ARSONISTS . . . BRIBERY
AND CORRUPTION (ALREADY) . , .
BRIBERY AND CORRUPTION (POS-
SIBLE) . . , Under possible, he
found the names of fifty-seven
prominent people. One of them
was Augustus T8. Esper Medical
Doctor 1. He nodded with satis-
faction.

He tore open the red envelope
and examineds its contents. It
contained five sheets of closely
written pages in a handwriting
that was centuries old. Four of
the pages were lettered: plan A,
plan b, plan c, plan d. The fifth
was headed introduction. Reich
read the ancient spidery script
slowly:

To those who come after me:

The test af intellect is the refusal

T ME DEMOLISHED MAN

to belabor the obvious. If you have
opened this letter, we already under-
stand each other. I have prepared four
genet ruirder plans which may help
you. I bequeath them to you as part
of the Reich inheritance. They are only
outline The details must be filled in
by yourself as your time and necessity
require.

But remember this: The essence of
murder never changes. It is always
the conflict of the killer against society
with the victim as the prize. And the
ABC of conflict with society never
changes. Be audacious, be brave, be
confident and you will not fail. Against
these qualities society has no defense.

Geoffrey Reich

Reich leafed through the plans
slowly, speculatively, filled with
admiration for the great old pi-
rate who had had the forethought
and ingenuity to perform this
work for his descendants. His
imagination kindled and ideas
began forming and crystalizing to
be considered, discarded and in-
stantly replaced.

>v^

ft.

■

*. "

$a$s

OAUXT SCIINCE FICTION

One remarkable phrase caught
his attention : // you are a natural
killer, don't plan too carefully.
Leave most to your instinct. In-
tellect may fail you, but the kill-
er's instinct is infallible.

"The killer's instinct," Reich
breathed. "By God, I've got
that*

The phone chimed once and
then the automatic switched on.
There was a quick chatter and
tape began to stutter out of the
recorder. Reich strode to the desk
and examined it.

The message was very short
and very deadly:

CODE TO REICH: REPLY WWHG.

"Offer refused. I knew it. I
knew it!" Reich gritted. "All
right, D'Courtney. If you won't
let it be merger, then it's going
to be murder."

Ill

A UGUSTUS T8, E.M.D.l, re-
-**■ ceived $1,000 per hour of
analysis — not a high fee consid-
ering that you rarely required
more t!han an hour of the doctor's
devastating time — but it placed

his income at $8,000 a day, $40,-
000 a week, or $2 million a year.
The public knew his income, but
it did not know what proportion
of that income was paid into the
Esper Guild for the education of
other Espers and the furthering
of the Guild's long- range eugenic
plan to bring Extra Sensory Per-
ception to every person in all the
worlds.

Augustus T8 knew, and the
95% he paid was a sore point
with him. Because of it, he was
not fully reconciled to the Galen
Pledge. Almost, but not quite. It
was the "not quite" that placed
him in Ben Reich's bribery and
corruption (possible) category.

Reich marched into T8's over-

• *

powering consultation room,
glanced once at T8's tiny figure,
slightly out of proportion, care*
fully realigned by tailors, then
»at down and grunted:

"Peep me quick."

He glared in concentration at
T8 while the elegant little peeper
examined him with a glittering
eye and spoke in quick staccato
bursts :

11 You're Ben Reich of Sacra-
ment. Ten billion dollar firm. You
think I should know you. I do.

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

"A 1st Class Esper? Am I
supposed to believe it? Am I sup-
posed to believe you're incapable
of outwitting the whole world?"

T8 smiled. "Sugar for the fly/'
he said, "A characteristic device
of-"

"Peep me/* Reich interrupted.
"It'll save time. Read what's in
my mind. Your gift. My re-
sources. An unbeatable combina-
tion. My God, it's lucky for the
Solar System I'm willing to stop
at one murder!"

"No/' T8 said with decision.
"It won't do. 111 have to commit

■

you, Mr. Reich/'

"Wait. Want to find out why
that - payment thought was
cloudy? Read me deeper. How
much am I willing to pay?
What's my top limit?"

^¥18 closed his eyes. His manne-
■*■ quin face tightened painfully.
Then his eyes opened in surprise.
"You can't be serious!" he ex-
claimed.

"I am," Reich grunted. "And
what's more, you know it's an
offer in good faith, don't you?"

T8 nodded slowly.

"And you're aware that Sacra-
ment plus D f Courtney can make
the offer good."

I almost believe you."
You can believe me. I throw
my combined resources at your
disposal. I guarantee to satisfy
every whim/ every desire, every

You're involved in a death strug-
gle with the D'Courtney Cartel.
You're savagely hostile toward
D'Courtney. Offered merger this
morning. Offer refused. In des-
peration you have resolved to—"
T8 broke off abruptly.

"Go ahead," Reich said.

"To murder Craye D'Courtney
as the first step in taking over his
cartel. You need my help. You
offer me — that thought's vague."

"One million dollars. In secret-
Tax free. Guild free."

"Ridiculous."

"Peep me. What's in my
pocket?"

"Five uncut emeralds valued at
twenty thousand dollars each. If
you keep on like this, Mr. Reich,
I'll have to commit you."

"One hundred thousand dol-
lars down payment. Untraceable.
Yours."

Reich withdrew the stones
from his pocket and tossed them
on the desk, where they rolled
like cloudy green pebbles. T8
stared at them.

"One hundred thousand a week
for ten weeks. The murder can't
take any longer. No record. No
implication. All safe. Still think-
ing of committing me?"

"It can't be done," T8 said,
hungrily not touching the cold
stones.

"It can be done with your
help."

"I can do nothing to help you.*

OALAXY SCIENCE FICTIO

inclination you may have for the
rest of your life. Read me. Am I
sincere? Will I hold to my
word?'*

"You will," T8 admitted with
extreme reluctance.

"Will you accept or commit?
And don't forget ... I can fight

a committal. Don't ever imagine
. I can't."

"The bribe is too big," T8 said,
his face beginning to strain again.
"You can't possibly hate D' Court-
ney with that much ferocity. I'm
trying to discover why the bribe
is too big/'

"Don't bother. Til tell you.
You want to enjoy the world. I
want to own the world. So long
as I own it, I'm willing to let you
enjoy it."

T8 picked up the stones and
fingered them. He closed his eyes
and said: "There hasn't been a
successful premeditated murder
in 79 years. Espers make it im-
possible to conceal intent before
the murder. Or, if Espers have
been evaded before the murder,
they make it impossible to con-
ceal the guilt." 4

"Esper evidence isn't admitted
in court."

npRUE, but once an Esper dis-
-*■ covers the guilt he can
uncover objective evidence to
support his peeping, Powell, the
Prefect of the Psychotic Divi-
sion, is deadly.* T8 opened his

eyes- "Do you want your emer-
alds back?"

"No," Reich said. "Look -the
situation over with me first. Mur-
ders have always failed because
no killer had the sense to hire a
good peeper, or at least, if he
had the sense, he couldn't afford
the deal. I can."

"Yes, you can,"

"I'm going to fight a war,"
Reich continued. "I'm going to
fight one sharp skirmish with so-
ciety. Let's look at it as a prob-
lem in strategy and tactics. My
problem's that of any army.
Audacity, bravery and confidence
aren't enough; An army needs
Intelligence. A war is won with
Intelligence. I need you for my
G-2."

"Agreed."

"1*11 do the fighting. You'll pro-
cure the Intelligence. FU have to
know where D'Courtney will be,
where I can strike, when I can
strike. Fll take care of the killing
myself, but you'll have to tell me
when and where the opportunity
will be."

"Understood."

"I'll have to invade first . . .
cut through a defensive network
surrounding D'Courtney. That
means reconnaissance from you*
You'll have to run interference*
check the normals, spot the peep-
ers, warn me and block them if
I can't avoid them. You'll have
to remain on the scene after the

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

murder. YouHI find out whom
the police suspect and why. If
I know suspicion is directed
against myself, I can divert it. If
I know it's directed against some-
one else, I can clinch it. I can
fight this war and win this war
with your Intelligence. Is that
the truth? Peep me."

After a long pause, T8 said:
"It's the truth. We can do it."
He picked up the emeralds and
dropped them into his pocket
with finality. "There's to be a
social gathering tonight at Pres-
ton Powell's house. D'Courtney's
physician will be there. I'll start
the reconnaissance. Maybe 1*11
locate D* Courtney's plans and
destination for you, I think I

can.

And you're not afraid of 'the
deadly Powell* ?»

T8 smiled contemptuously. "If
I were, Mr. Reich, would I trust
myself in this bargain with you?
Make no mistake, I'm no Jeremy
Church."

"Church!"

"Yes. The Esper 2nd. He was
kicked out of the Guild ten years
ago for that little junket of his
with you."

"Damn you. Got that from me,
eh?"

"You and history."

"Well, it won't repeat itself this
time. You're tougher and smarter
than Church. Need anything spe-
cial for Powell's party? Women?

Clothes? Jewels? Money ?*

"Nothing, thank you,"

"Criminal but generous, that's
me/' Reich smiled as he arose to
go. He did not offer to shake
hands.

"Mr. Reich!" T8 called sud-
denly.

Reich turned at the door.

"The screaming will continue.
The Man With No Face is not a
symbol of D' Courtney or mur-
der."

"What? Oh, Christ, the night-
mares. Stilt? How did you get
that? How did you — "

"Don't be a fool. Do you think.
you can play games like that with
a 1st?"

"What about the damned
nightmares?"

"No, I shan't tell you. I doubt
if anyone but a 1st can tell you,
and naturally you would not dare
to consult another after this con-
ference."'

"For God's sake, man! Are you
going to help me?"

"No, Mr. Reich," T8 smiled
malevolently, "That's my little
weapon. It keeps us on a parity
basis. Criminal but peeper . . .
that's me."

LIKE all upper grade Espers,
Preston Powell, Ph.D.l, lived
in a private house. It was not a
question of conspicuous con-
sumption, but rather a problem
of privacy. Life in any multiple

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

dwelling was life in an inferno
of naked emotion for an Esper,
especially an Esper 1st.

Powell occupied a small lime-
stone maisonette on Hudson
Ramp, overlooking the North
River. There were only four
rooms — upstairs, a bedroom and
study; downstairs, a living room
and kitchen. The interior walls
were translucent nacre, at pres-
ent colored oyster white with
seounces, mouldings and Adam
mantles projected on them. The
polymorph furniture was cur-
rently shaped into Sheraton and
Hepplewhite reproductions. All
Esper s required frequent sensory
restimulation, and he was now
in his Georgian period.

There was no servant in the
house; he preferred to do for him-
self. He was in the kitchen, check-
ing over the stasis-freeze in prep-
aration for the party, whistling
a plaintive, crooked tune, a slen-
der man in his late thirties, tall,
loose, slow-moving. His cropped
hair was prematurely white; a
startling contrast to the jet black
eyebrows and deep dark eye?. His
nose was big, thrusting, almost
arrogant. His wide mouth seemed
perpetually on the verge of laugh-
ter.

If you looked at the lower half
of Powell's face, you said this
must be the funniest man in the
world. If you looked at the upper
half, you were sure he was the

saddest man in the world. If you
asked him, he would answer that
he was both or neither or any-
thing, depending on the situation,
the questioner and the reason for
the question.

For it was the essence of the
Esper that * he, too, was poly-
morph ... a personality of many
shapes and many quantities.
There was no consistent public
character; there was only con-
sistent response to the require-
ments of all situations. Sensitive
to the demands of the psyche,
the Esper gave you the response
you really wanted and it was this
responsive quality that made Es-
pers fantastically popular. Lay-
man pursued them endlessly, of-
fering friendship and fraternity,
marriage and maternity; and the
Espers fled desperately, unable to
explain to the deaf-mutes that
these were unilateral offers . . «
that there could be no genuine
relationship between all-giver
and all-taker . . . that only Espen
could give to each other with any
sort of equality.

rw^HE doorbell chimed. Powell
-* glanced at his watch in sur-
prise — it was too early — then di-
rected Open in C- sharp at the
TP Locksenser.

It responded to the Thought
Pattern and the front door slid
open.

Instantly came a familiar sen-

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

»r

•ALAXY SCIINCI FICTIO

sory impact: Snow/mint, tulips/
taffeta,

"Mary Noyes. Come to help
the bachelor prepare for the

party. Jftt8B\n#B+"

"Hoped you'd need me, Pres."

"Every host needs a hostess.
Mary, what am I going to do for
Canapes s.o.$.?"

"Just invented a new recipe.
Til make it for you. Roast chut-
ney #."

"»?"

"That's telling, my love: 9

"Oh-ho. That kind of can(se-
cret)ape?"

She came into the kitchen, a
short girl externally, but tall and

swaying in thought; a dark girl
exteriorly, but frost white in pat-
tern. Almost a nun in white, de-
spite the swarthy texture of ex-
ternals; but Thought Pattern was
the real reality. You are what you
think*

"Then I wish I could re -think,
Pfes. Have my synapses re-
ground."

"Change your (I kiss you as
you are) self, Mary?' 9

"If I only (You never really
do, Pres) could. Fm so tired of
tasting you tasting mint every
time we meet**

"Next time Til add brandy and
ice. Shake well. Voila. Stinger*
Mary."

"Do that. Also (strike out}
snow."

"Why strike out tht now? I
love snow. 9 *

But I love you.* 9

And I love you, Mary.**
"Thanks, Pres" But he had
said it. He always said it, never
thought it. She turned away
quickly and began fumbling with
the drink ampules in the freeze.
The tears unshed within her
scalded him,

y A&tin, Mary?"

Not again. Always" An^ the
deeper levels of her mind < d:
"/ love you, Pres. I love ou.
Image of my father: symbol of
security: Of warmth: Of pro-
tecting passion : Do not reject mm
always.**

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

••Listen to me, Mary . . *

44 Don't talk. Please, Pres. Not
in words. I could nt bear it it
words came between us."

"You're my friend, Mary.
Snow. Mint. Tulips. Taffeta. Cool
and swaying. For every weary
moment in my life. For every dis-
appointment. For every singular
elation"

"But not for love"

"Don't let it hurt you so. Not
for love"

"I have enough love, God pity
me, for both of us, Pres"

"One, God pity us, is not
enough for both, Mary"

"You must marry before you're
forty. The Guild insists on that.
You know it"

"I know it"

"What are you waiting for,
Pres?"

"A wife I can love"

"Let friendship answer. Marry

me, Pres. Give me a year, that* a
all. One little year to love you.
I'll let you go. I wont cling. I
won't make you hate me. Dar-
ling, it 9 so little to ask . . „ so
tittle to give . . "

"But you're asking more than
either of us could give. If we were
non-Espers, we might make it
work. But we're not."

Her hands became tight fists
pressing against her hips.

He shook his head. "You see,
Mary? You're loathing yourself
for being an Esper, envying deaf-

mutes their watery loves."

"But if I became a 1st • . J*

The doorbell chimed. Powell
looked at Mary helplessly.
"Guests/* he murmured and di-
rected Open in C-sharp at the TP
lock-senser. At the same instant
she directed Close a fifth above.
The harmonics meshed and the
door remained shut.

Answer me first, Pres."
I can't give you the answer
you want, Mary"

The doorbell chimed again.

"For God's sake, be honest. Say
it."

He took her shoulders firmly,
held her close and looked deep
into her eyes* "You're a 2nd.
Read me as deeply as you can.
Whafs in my heart? What's in
my mind?"

He removed all blocks. The
thundering, plunging depths of
his mind cascaded over her in a
warm, frightening, exalted tor-
rent, terrifying, yet magnetic and
desirable; but . . .

"Snow, Mint. Tulips. Taffeta,*
she said wearily, "Go meet your
guests, Pres. Fit make your ca-
napes. It's all Fm good for."

He kissed her once, with com-
passion, then turned toward the
living room and opened the front
door.

Instantly a fountain of tele-
pathic brilliance sparkled into the
house, followed by the guests.

The Esper party began.

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTIO

Frankly,
Ellery,
I

don't
think
We you'll

Brought be

Canapes?

Thanks, delicious.

Mary, they're

Canapes?

Galen working

along ior

to Sacrament

help him celebrate. much

He's longer,

just The

taken his Guild Exam

and

Wh*
yes,
T8,
I'm
treating
D'Courtney.
I
expect
him
in
town
very

shortly

if is

yorire just

interested, about

Powell, we're ready

to
run rule
you Sacrament's

been

classed
2nd.

for
Guild

President.

espionage

unethical.

Canapes?

Why, yes.
Thank
you,

4t @kins! Chervil! T8t Have m
heart. 9 Will you people take a
look at the Thought Pattern t?)
we've been weaving?"

The TP chatter stopped. The
guests burst into laughter.

u This reminds me of my days
in the kindergarten, A little mercy
for your host, please. Pit jump
my tracks if we keep on weaving

Mary • . ♦

this mishmash. Let's have some
order. I don't even ask for

beauty"

l Just name the pattern, Pres"
Whafll you have?"
Woven pattern? Math curves?
Music? Architectural design?' 9

"Anything. Anything. Just so
long as you don f t make my brairm
itch"

• 4

€4

€*

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

Sorry. Preston,

weren't party-minded Enough

TB,

thought

E^per

but

Alan

men

I'm

Seaver

remaining

Not that a Press

was

ever elected stilt unmarried

coming

can

liberty

but

ruin

To be generous,

feel Al y s a man to loa the

reveal

don't

Guild's

anything

entire

about

him

eugenic

D* Courtney is

arriving

according to plan

yet

ripHERE was another burst of
<*■ laughter when Mary Noyes
was left hanging with that un-
Kticulated "yet/' She blushed
with embarrassment and fought
to conceal the wave of shame and
humiliation linked with Powell's
rejection that swept up from the
lower levels of her mind.

Fortunately, the doorbell
chimed again, and Alan Seaver
(Solar Equity Advocate 2) en-
tered with a girl. She was a de-
mure little thing, surprisingly
attractive outwardly, and new to
the company. Her Thought Pat-
tern was naive and not deeply
responsive. Obviously a 3rd.

u Abject apologies for the delay.
Orange blossoms & wedding rings
are the excuse. I proposed on the
way over. This is Helen Post."

"And I'm afraid I accepted,"
Helen said, smiling nervously*

"Don't talk, ff Seaver shot at
her ."This isn't a 3rd Class brawL

I told you not to use words. 90

"I forgot/' she blurted again,
and then heated the room with
her fright and shame. While
Seaver glared at her, Powell
stepped forward, took the girl's
trembling hand and flooded her
mind with warm acceptance.

"Ignore him, Helen. He's a 2nd*
come-lately snob. I'm Preston
Powell, your host. I Sherlock for
the cops. If Alan beats you, I 9 It
help him regret it. Come and
meet your fellow telepathic
freaks . . " He conducted her
around the room. "This is Gum
TB, a quack-one. Next to him,
Sam 8* Sally @kins. Sam's an-
other of the same. Sfte's a baby*
si iter -two . . "

"Sherlock can't pronounce
Child Psychologist. You're tlm
prettiest girl I've ever seen, Helen.
Vm sending green threats to Sam,
who'd * better stop kissing you
right now"

9AIAXY (SCIENCf FICTION

:*<ra

i«

"Th-thank

— / mean, thank
your

In one lightning TP broadcast,
Powell and @kins engaged in
comedy mental combat for the
girl's favors, while Seavcr served
them with summonses "and Sally
rubbed two Boy Scouts together
to set both rivals on fire and de-
stroy them. The girl giggled and
began to relax.

"That fat man sitting on the
floor is Wally Chervil, labor -two.
The blonde sitting in his lap is

June, his wife. June's an editor-

f.
two. That's their son, Galen, talk-
ing to Ellery West. Gally's a
tech-undergrad -three . . J*

Young Galen Chervil indig-
nantly started to point out that
he'd just been classed 2nd and
hadn't needed to use words in
over a year. Powell cut him off
below the girl's perceptive thresh-
old and explained the reason for
the deliberate mistake — he didn't
want her to feel lost among all
2nds and 1st?.

"Oh," said Galen. "Yep, broth-
er and sister 3rds, that's us, Miss
Post. And am I glad you're here!
These deep peepers were begin-
ning to scare me."

"I was scared at first, but I'm
not any more."

"And this is your hostess,
Helen. Mary Noyes."

"Hello, Helen. Canapes?"

"Thank you. They took de/i-
cious, Mrs. Powell"

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

44 Now how about a game?"
Powell interposed quickly. "Any*
body feet like playing Rebus?**

TTUDDLED in the shadow of

■"--■■ the limestone arch, Jeremy
Church pressed against the gar-*
den door of Powell's house, listen-
ing with all his soul. He was cold,
silent, immobile and starved. He
was resentful, hating, contemptu-
ous and starved. He was an Esper
Bar 2 and starved. The bar sin-
ister of ostracism was the source
of his hunger.

Through the thin maple panel
filtered the multiple Thought
Pattern of the party, a weaving,
ever-changing, exhilarating de-
sign. And Church, Esper Bar 2,
living on a diet of words for the
past ten years, was starved for
his real communication.

"The reason I mentioned
D' Courtney is that I've just comm
across a case that might be simi-
larr

That was T8, sucking up tm
@kins.

"Oh, really? Very interesting*
Fd like to compare notes. Too
bad D' Courtney won't — wett, bm
available.' 9 @kins was being dis-
creet and it smelled as though
T8 was after something. Maybe
not, but there certainly was some
elegant block and counter-block-
ing going on, like duelists fencing
with complicated electrical cir*
cuits.

* Look here, Al, I think you've
been pretty snotty to that poor

Powell, who'd had him ostra-
cized, preaching down his big
nose at the lawyer.

"Poor girl? You mean dumb
girl, Pres. My God! How gauche
can you get?"

"She's only a 3rd, Al Be fair? 9

"She gives me a pain.* 9

m Do you think it's decent, mar-
rying a girl when you feel that
way about her?* 9

"Don't be a romantic ass, Pres.
We've got to marry peepers. I
may as well settle for a pretty
face? 9 4

They were playing Rebus in
the living room. The Noyes girl
was busy building a camouflaged
image with some old poem:

The

vast,

and

Glimmering

ca/m

stand,

tonight,

England

The

tide

out

full,

the

tranquil

bay.

Come to

the window

sweet is

the night

air.

Only

from

the

long

line

of spray u

cliffs

the

gone;

moon

lie:

and

Gleams

•*

fair

light

Upon the straits;

the French coast the

OAIAXY SCIENCE FICTIO

What the devil was that? An
eye in a glass? Not a glass. A
stein. Eye in a stein, Einstein.
Easy.

"What dyou think of Powell

for the job, Ellery?" That was
Chervil with his phony smile and
his pontifical belly.

"For Guild President?"

"Yes."

"Damned efficient man. Ro-
mantic hut efficient. The perfect
candidate if he'd only get mar-
ried:*

"That 9 s the romance in him.
He's having trouble locating a

gitir

"Don't all you deep peepers?
Thank God I'm not a 1st"

And then a smash of glass
crashing in the kitchen and
Preacher Powell again, lecturing
little T8.

"Never mind the glass, Gus. I
had to drop it to cover for you.
You're radiating anxiety like an
FO star."

"The hell I am, Powell"

"The hell you* re not What's
all this about Ben Reich?"

The little swine was really ter-
rified. You could feel it blazing
under the block he quickly
erected. ' m

"Ben Reich? What brought
him up?'*

"You did, Gus. It*s been moil'
ing in your preconscious all eve-
ning. I couldn't help latching on
to it"

"Not me, Powell You must 6*

tuning another TP."

Image of a horse laughing,
"Powell, I swear I'm not — "
"Are you mixed up with Reich,

Gus?"

"No:* But you could feel the
blocks bang down solidly into
place.

u Well, take a hint from an old
hand. Reich can get you into
trouble. Be careful. Remember
Jerry Church? Reich ruined hirru
Don't let it happen to you"

The pigmy skedaddled and
Preacher Powell remained in the
kitchen, calm and slow -moving,
sweeping up broken glass while
Church lay frozen against the
back door, suppressing the hatred
seething in his heart. The Chervil
boy was showing off for the law-
yer's girl, singing a love ballad
and paralleling it with a visual
parody. College stuff. The wives
were arguing violently in sine
curves. @kins and West were in-
terlacing cross -conversation in a
fascinatingly intricate pattern of
sensory images that made his
starvation keener.

"Would you like a drink,
Jerry?"

The garden door opened. Pow-
ell stood silhouetted in the light,
a bubbling glass in his hand. The
stars lit his face softly. The deep
hooded eyes were compassion-
ate and understanding. Dazed,
Church climbed to his feet and

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

timidly took the proffered drink.

"Dorit report this to the Guild.
Vd catch hell for breaking the
taboo. Poor Jerry , , . We've got
to do someiliing for you. Ten
years is too long.*'

Church hurled the drink in
Powell's face, then turned and
fled, weeping invisible tears of
anger and self-pity.

AT nine the next morning, T8*s
mannequin face appeared on
the screen of Reich's phone.

"Is this line st cure?" he asked
sharply.

Reich pointed to the Warranty
Seal.

"All right:' T8 said. "I think
I've done the job for you. I
peeped @kins last night. Before I
report, I must warn you — there's
a chance of error When you deep-
peep a 1st. @kins blocked pretty
carefully."

"He would, of course."

"Craye D'Courtney arrives
from Mars on the Astra next
Wednesday morning. He will go
at once to th< home of Maria
Beaumont, where he will be a
secret and hidden guest for ex-
actly one night."

"One night," Reich repeated.
**And then? His plans?"

* # I don't know. Apparently
D'Courtney is planning some
form of drastic action-

"Against me!"

"Perhaps. According to @kins,
D'Courtney is under some kind
of violent strain and his adapta-
tion pattern is shattering. The
Life Instinct and Death Instinct
have defused. He is regressing
under the emotional bankruptcy
very rapidly ..."

"My life depends on this,"
Reich raged. "Talk straight."

"Every man is a balance of
two opposed drives — the Life In-
stinct and the Death Instinct.
Both drives have the identical
purpose, to win Nirvana. The
Life Instinct fights for Nirvana
by smashing all opposition. The
Death Instinct attempts to win
Nirvana by destroying itself.
Usually both instin< n

the adapted individu Under
strain, they defuse. That's what's
happening to D* Courts

"Yes, by God! And he's jetting
for me!"

"@kins will see D'Courtney
Thursday morning in an effort to
dissuade him from whatever he
contemplates.' @kins is afraid of
it and determined to stop it.*

"He won't have to stop it 111
stop it myself. It's self-defense,
T8,„not murder! You've done a
good job."

"This is Monday. 'You'll have
to be ready by Wednesday."

"I'll be ready," Reich assured
him grimly. "You'd better be
ready too.'*

♦i

6 A I A X Y SCIENCE FICTIO

*Tve reconsidered," T8 said.
"This is as far as I care to go."

"The hell you say."

"I've given you your essential
information. Your Intelligence,
you called it. I've been paid.
We'll call it quits."

"Look," Reich said ominously.
44 1 can't swing it alone and you
know it. That was the under-
standing. I need you to cover for
me at Maria Beaumont's house
next Wednesday. I'll need you for
the cops afterward. I told you it
was a ten week job. One day for
the kill and sixty-nine days to
cover,"

'Tm sorry," T8 said. "I can't
do it."

M You don't know how sorry
you're going to be," Reich an-
swered. He flipped the Warranty
Seal and it clattered off the line.
It was really an astonishing coun-
terfeit, and the mere possession
of it could make extraordinary
difficulties if reported to the gov-
ernment. Reich pointed to the re-
cording crystal. "Want to hear
the playback?"

T8's face turned livid, 4 *You
contemptible fool! You recorded
this conversation? You — "

''It'll stay recorded until we've
finished the job. Then Til send
you the crystal and a hammer."

"If the police ever — it'll mean
Demolition. Don't you realize
that?"

"Demolition for both of us.

Yes, I realize that." Reich's voice
began to crack. "You little louse!
Do you think I'm going to let
anything stand between me and
that bastard's blood? Anything?**
He managed to take hold of him-
self. "You're in this all the way
with me, and I'm in it straight
to the finish . . . one way or the
other. Don't forget the strain I'm
under. I'm starting to defuse
too."

TBEICH planned all that Mon-
■*-^day, audaciously; bravely,
with confidence. He planned as
a story is plotted or a song is
sketched. He penciled the outlines
as an artist fills a sheet with deli-
cate tracery before the bold ink-
ing-in; but he did no final inking.
That was to be left for the killer-
instinct on Wednesday night. He
put the plan away and slept Mon-
day night . . . and awoke scream-
ing, dreaming of The Man With
No Fadfc,

But Tuesday morning he re-
examined the plan and was satis-
fied. It was audacious, brave,
confident. One trick to make him-
self invisible for the attack on
D'Courtney; one time-machine to
banish all defense out of the con-
tinuum; one ingenious deception
to rob all peepers of their dan-
gerous telepathic perception; one
final, inexplicable murderous
blow to destroy his enemy for-
ever.

*N E DEMOLISHED MAN

Pantys-
dustrial
search-

Tuesday afternoon, Reich left
Sacrament Tower early and
dropped in at the Winter Studios
on Sheridan Place. A two-cen-
tury zigzag progression led from
the old book store via: porno-
graphic literature — pornographic
— legitimate Pantys — in-
Pantys — industrial re-
planetary research — and
Planetary Conditioning to the
giant block of buildings where
would-be colonists were inducted
and trained for survival in the
strange new environments which
they would encounter.

'Tm trying to survive too,"
I?eich muttered. "But I'm al-
ready conditioned for it.'*

For sentimental reasons,
old Winter book store was
maint^ned in an alley between
two of the colossal buildings. It
also served as a space and light
saver, and was a quaint land-
mark with its ancient Donaldson
Resistance Hedge, It specialized
mostly in piezo -electric record-
ings, tiny crystals mounted in
elegant settings. The latest vogue
was brouche-operas for M'lsdy.
("She Shall Have Music Wher-
ever She Goes.") Winter also had
ves of fascinating old books.

"I want something special for a
nd I've nc cted," Reich told
r 1 -an.

He was immediately bom-
barded with merchandise and
suggestions.

•*'

the
still

'Not special enough," he com-
plained, "Why don't you people
hire a peeper and save your cli-
ents this trouble?" He began
sauntering around the shop,
tailed by a retinue of eager clerks.
After he had dissembled suffi-
ciently, and before the worried
manager could send out for an
emergency peeper salesman,
Reich stopped before the book-
shelves.

"What's this?" he inquired,
looking surprised.

"Antique books, Mr. Reich."
The sales staff began explaining
what books were and how they
used to be produced, while Reich
slowly examined his way toward
the tattered brown volume that
was his goal. He remembered it
well. He had glanced through it
five years ago and made a note
of one particular device in his lit-
tle black opportunity book. Old
Geoffrey Reich wasn't the only
Reich who believed in prepared-
ness.

"Interesting. What's this one?**
Reich pulled down the brown
volume. "Let's Play Party by
Shirley Noyes. What's the date
on it? You mean to say they had
parties that long ago?"

The staff assured him that the
ancients were very modern in
many astonishing ways.

"Look at the contents," Reich
chuckled. " 'Honeymoon Bridge'
» . . 'Prussian Whist* . . * Tost

• •

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

Office* . . . 'Sardine*. What in the
world could that be? Page ninety-
six. Let's have a look."

Reich flipped pages until he
came to a bold-face heading:
hilarious games, "Look at this,"

he laughed, pointing to the well-
remembered paragraph.

SARDINE

One player is selected to be It. All
the lights are extinguished and the It
hides anywhere in the house. After a
few minutes, the players go to find the
It, hunting separately. The first one
who finds him does not reveal the fact,
but hides with him wherever he is.
Successively, each player finding the
Sardines joins them until all are hid-
den in one place and the last player
who is the loser is left to wander alone
in the dark.

"I'll take it," Reich said. "This
is just the thing for mu — for my
friend."

HpHAT evening he spent three

-^ hours carefully defacing the
remains of the volume. With heat,
acid, stain and scissors, he mu-
tilated the game instructions, and
every burn, every cut, every slash
was a blow at D'Courtney's
writhing body. When his proxy
murders were finished, he had re-
duced every game to incomplete
fragments. Only 'Sardine' was left
intact.

Reich wrapped the book, ad-
dressed it to ^try, the appraiser,
and dropped it into the airslot. It
went off with a puff and a bang

and returned an hour later with
fftry's official sealed appraisal.
Reich's mutilations had not been
suspected of being anything but
the deterioration of ages.

He had the book gift-wrapped
with the appraisal enclosed, as
was the custom, and slotted it to
Maria Beaumont's house. Twen-
ty minutes later came the reply,
obviously written by herself:

"Darling! I thot you'd forgot-
ten litle ol sexy me. How 2 di-
vine. Come to Beaumont House
tonite. Were haveing a party.
We'l play games from you're
sweet gift." There was a portrait
of Maria centered in the star of
a synthetic ruby enclosed in the
message capsule.

Reich answered: "Devastated.
Not tonight. One of my millions
is missing."

She answered: "Wenesday, you
clever boy, I'll give you one
of mine."

He replied: "Delighted to ac-
cept. Will bring guest. I kiss all
of yours." He went to bed.

And screamed at The Man
With No Face.

TJJTEDNESDAY morning,
** Reich visited the laboratory
department of Sacrament — "Pa-
ternalism, you know" — and spent
a stimulating hour with the bright
young men. He discussed their
work and their glowing futures
If they would only have faith in

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

Sacrament. He told the old dirty
joke about the neurotic pioneer
who made the emergency landing
on Joan Turnbul's starship — and
the corpse said: "I'm just one of
the tourists!" — and the bright
young men laughed subservient-
ly, feeling slightly contemptuous
of the boss.

This enabled Reich to drift into
the Restricted Room unnoticed
and pick up one of the Rhodop-
sin Ionizers, a cube of copper half
the size of a fulminating cap, but
twice as deadly as a time-ma-
chine. There would be a stink if
the loss was noted in the weekly
inventory, and one of the bright
young men might have trouble
With government inspectors and
acquire a sentence; but by that
time D'Courtney would be dead
and rotting.

Wednesday afternoon, Reich
went over to Melody Lane in the
heart of the Panty district and
called on Psych-Songs, Inc.
There was a clever young woman
there who had written some bril-
liant jingles for Sales and some
effective strikebreaking songs for
Propaganda back when Sacra-
ment needed everything to smash
that labor fracas in the Asteroid
Belt. Duffy Wyg&, her name was,
and she insisted that Duffy wasn't
a nickname. Had been in the
family for years.

"Well, Duffy?" He kissed her
casually. She was pretty as a

planet, but a trifle too young.

"Well, Mr. Reich? Still wearing
that hideous tweed? No woman
to guide you/' She looked at him
oddly. "Some day I'm going to
hire one of those Lonely Heart
Peepers to case your kiss. I keep
thinking you don't mean busi-

ness/'
4t I don't."

it'

**.

•*■"

i ■

You dog."
"A man has to make up his
mind early, Duffy. If he kisses
girls, he kisses his money good-
by."

You kiss me."

Only because you're the
image of the lady on the sov-
ereign."

Pip," she said.
Pop," he said.
Bim," she said.
Bam " he said.
"I'd like to kill the gimp-head
who invented that exchange"
Duffy said revoltedly. "All right,
handsome. What's your prob-
lem?"

"Gambling/' Reich said. "El-
lery West, my Rec director, if
complaining about the gambling
in Sacrament Says there's too
much. Personally, I don't care."

"Keep a man in debt and he's
afraid to ask for a raise."

"You're entirely too smart,
young lady/'

"So you want a no-gamble-
type song?"

"Something like that Catchy.

»•

• ALAXY SCIENCI FICTION

Not too obvious. More a delayed
action than a straight propa-
ganda tune. Fd like the condition-
ing to be more or less uncon-
scious." >

Duffy nodded and made quick
notes.

"And please make it a tune
worth hearing. I'H, be listening
to God kqows how many people
singing and whistling and hum-
ming it."

You louse. All my tunes are
worth hearing/*
"Once/ 1

"That's a thousand extra on
my bill/'

Reich laughed. "Speaking of
monotony . B /'

"Which we weren't/'
"What's the most persistent
tune you ever wrote?"
"Persistent?"

"You know what I mean. Like
those advertising jingles you can't
get out of your head/*

Oh, Pepsis, we call 'em."
Why?"

They say because the first
one was^written centuries ago for
the primitive radio and TV they
had then by a character named
Pepsi. Well, maybe. I don't know.
I wrote one once . , /* Duffy
winced in recollection. "Hate to
think of it even now. It haunted
me for a year/*

You're rocketing/'
'Scout's honor, Mr. Reich. It
was Tenser, Said the Tensor. I

«•■

44'

«*■

*i\

*4,

4 4

wrote it for that Panty about the
crazy mathematician. They
wanted nuisance value and they
sure got it. People got so sore,
they had to withdraw the Panty*
Lost a fortune/*
"Let's hear it."

I couldn't do that to you,"

Come on, Duffy. I'm curious-*"

You'll regret it/'

I don't believe you."
"All right, pig," she said, and
pulled the multivox panel toward
her. "This pays you back for
the flabby kiss."

Her fingers and palms slipped
gracefully over the panel. A tune
filled the room with agonizing f
unforgettable banality. It was the
quintessence of every musical
cliche Reich had ever heard. No
matter what melody you tried
to remember, it invariably led
down the path of familiarity to
Tenser, Said the Tensor. Then
Duffy began to sing in an excru-
ciating little voice:

Eight* sir; seven, sir;

Six, sir; five, sir;

Four, sir; three, sir;

Two, sir; one!

Tenser, said the Tensor.

Tenser, said the Tensor,

Tension, apprehension

And dissension have begun.

"Oh, my God!" Reich em-
claimed.

"I've got some real clever-up
tricks in that tune,'' Duffy said,
still playing. "Notice the beat

THI DIMOUSHED MAN

after 'one?* That's a semi-ca-
dence. Then you get another beat
after 'begun/ That turns the encf
of the song into a semi-cadence,
too, so you can't ever end it. The
beat keeps you running in circles,
like: Tension, apprehension and
dissension have begun. RIFF.
Tension, apprehension and dis-
sension have begun. RIFF. Ten-
sion* appre — "

"Duffy!" Reich protested.

"Another thing/' she continued
blandly. "There are thirteen syl-
lables in the last two lines. You'd
be surprised at the subconscious
symbolic effect. Count them.
Tension, apprehension and dis-
sen — "

Reich started to his feet,
pounding his palms on his ears.
"How long is this affliction going
to last?"

"Not less than a month."

"Tension, apprehension and
diss — I'm ruined. Isn't there any
way out?"

"Sure," Duffy said. "Iff easy.
Just ruin me." She pressed her-
self against him and planted an
earnest young kiss. "Lout/' she
murmured. "Pig. Boob. Dolt.
When are you going to drag me
through the gutter? Clever up,
dog. Why aren't you as smart as
I think you are?"

"I'm smarter," he said, and
left.

The song established itself
firmly in his mind and echoed

painfully all the way down to the
street. Tenser, said the Tensor.
Tenser, said the Tensor. Tension,
apprehension and dissension have
begun. RIFF. A perfect mind-
block for a non-Esper to use.
What peeper could get past that?
Tension, apprehension and dis-
sension have begun.

"Much smarter," muttered
Reich, and took a Jumper to
Jeremy Church's pawnshop on
the upper west side.

Tension, apprehension and dis~
sension have begun.

T"|ESPITE all rival claims,
•"-^ pawnbroking is undoubtedly
the oldest profession. It extends
from the depths of the past to
the uttermost reaches of the fu-
ture, as unchanging as the pawn-
broker's shop itself. You walked
into Jeremy Church's cellar store,
which was crammed and littered
with the debris of time, and you
were in a museum of eternity.
And even Church himself, wiz-
ened, peering, his face blackened
and bruised by the internal blows
of suffering, was the very Ur-type
or final evocation of humanity.

Church shuffled out of the
shadows and came face to face
with Reich, standing starkly illu-
minated in a patch of sunlight
slanting across the counter. He
did not start. He did not acknowl-
edge Reich's identity. Brushing
past the man who was his mortal

# .•

• •

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

enemy, he placed himself behind
the counter and said: "Yes,
please?*'

"Hello. Jerry-"

Without locking up, Church
extended his hand across the
counter. Reich attempted to clasp
it. It was snatched away.

"No/* Church said with a snarl
that was a haff hysterical laugh*
"Not that, thank you, Just give
me what you want to pawn/'

It was the peeper's sour little
trap, and he had tumbled into it.
No matter.

"I haven't anything to pawn,
Jerry."

"As poor as that? How the
mighty have fallen. But we must
expect it, eh? We all fall."
Church glanced sidelong at him,
trying to peep him. Let him try.
Tension, apprehension and dis-
sension have begun. Let him get
through the crazy tune rattling
in his head.

"AH of us fall," Church said.
"All of us."

"I expect so, Jerry. I haven't
yet. I've been lucky."

"I wasn't lucky," the peeper
said bitterly. "I met you/*

"Jerry," Reich said patiently.
*Tve never been your bad luck-
It was your own luck that ruined
you. Not — *

"You bastard," Church said
with a horrible lack of emphasis.
"You cheating, lying, rotten can-
nibal. Get out of here. I want

nothing to do with you."

"Not even my money?" Reich
withdrew ten crisp ten sovereign
notes from his pocket and placed
them on the counter. Tension, ap*
prehension and dissension have
begun . . .

"I want your heart cut open.
I want your blood spilling on
the ground, I want the maggots
eating the eyes out of your living
head. I don't want your money."

"Then what do you want*
Jerry?"

* "I told you!" the peeper
screamed, "Your freezing blood!"

"What do you want, Jerry?"
Reich repeated, keeping his eyes
on the % wizened man. Tension,
apprehension and dissension have

begun. He could still control
Church. It didn't matter that
Church had been a 2nd, for c6h-
trol wasn't a question of peeping;
it was a question of personality.
Eight, sir; seven, sir; six, sir; five,
sir . . . He always had and always
would control Church.

"What do you want?" Church
asked sullenly*

Reich snorted, "You're the
peeper. You tell me."

"I can't read it, There's crazy
music mixing everything up."

"Then I'll have to tell you. I
want a gun."

"A what?"

"G-U-N. Gun. Ancient weap-
on. It propels projectiles by ex*
plosion."

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

*I haven't anything like that.*

"Yts, you do t Jerry, Ken©
Quizzard mentioned it to me
some time ago. He saw it. Steel
and collapsible. Very interesting
antique/'

'What do you want it for?**

"Read me, Jerry, and find out,
I haven't anything to hide. It's
all quite innocent/*

Church screwed up his face,
then quit in disgust. "You won't
stick me with that nagging tune.*
He shuffled off into the shadows.
There was a distant slamming of
metal drawers, then the sharf)
crack of a split protective bulb.
Church returned with a compact
nodule of tarnished steel and
placed it on the counter along-
side the money. He pressed a stud
and the lump of metal sprang
open into steel knuckle -rings, re-
volver and stiletto.

"What do you want it for?**
Church asked again.

"You're hoping it's something
that can lead to blackmail, eh?"
Reich smiled. "Sorry. It's a gift.**

"A dangerous gift." The peeper
gave him that sidelong glance
of snarl and laugh. "Ruination
for someone else, eh?"

"Not at all, Jerry. It's a gift
for a friend of mine. Dr. T8."

"T8!" Church stared at him.

"Do you know him? He col-
lects old things."

"I know him." Church began
to chuckle asthmatically. "But

I'm beginning to know him bet-
ten Fm beginning to feel sorry
for him*** He stopped laughing
and shot a penetrating glance at
Reich. "Of course! This will make
a lovely gift for Gus. A fine
gift for Gus. Because it's loaded.**
"Oh? Is it?"

"Five lovely cartridges. A gift
for Gus." He touched a cam. A
cylinder snapped out of the side
of the gun, displaying five cham-
bers filled with brass cartridges.
He looked from the cartridges to
Reich, "Five serpent's teeth to
give to Gus."

"I told you this was innocent,**
Reich said in a hard voice. "We f U
have to pull those teeth,"

Church stared at him in aston-
ishment, then began to nod mis-
chievously. "We will, we will,**
he chirped in a strangely de-
lighted voice. He trotted down
the aisle and returned with two
small tools. "A gift for Gus," he
chanted, almost hysterically. "A
gift for nice little, rich little,
happy little Gus." Quickly he
wrenched each of the metal slugs
from the cartridges. He slid the
cases back into the chambers,
snapped the cylinder home and
then placed the gun alongside the
money.

"AH safe," he said brightly.
"Safe for dear little Gus."

He looked at Reich expectant-
ly. Reich extended both hands.
With one he pushed the money

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTIO

toward Church, with the other
he drew the gun toward himself.
At that instant, Church changed
again. The air of chirpy evil left
him. He grasped Reich's wrists
with iron claws and bent across
the counter with blazing in-
tensity.

"No, Ben," he said, using the
name for the first time. "That
isn't the price. You know it. De-
spite that crazy song in your
head, I know you know it,"

"All right, Jerry," Reich said
steadily, never relaxing his hold
on the gun. "What is the price?"

"It isn't money. You know
that. There's been too much
passed between us for money to
pass again."

"What do you want, Jerry?"

"I know Gus is working for
you."

"You didn't get that from me."

"I got it at Pres — never mind
where I got it; I know. You/re
cooking something poisonous for
Gus, aren't you? Something like
you cooked for me."

"With a harmless gun? You
removed the poison yourself,
Jerry. Remember that."

"In case I'm asked?"
Why should anyone ask?"
I don't care what you do to
Gus. I care about what you do
for me."

"What do you want? What's
the price?"

"I want to be reinstated," the

«*i

44'

ostracized peeper said. "I want
to get back into the Guifrd. I want
to be alive again. That's the
price."

"What can I do? I'm not a
peeper. I don't belong to the
Guild."

"You got to me. You got to T8„
You could get to the Guild. You
could have me reinstated."
Impossible."

'You can bribe, blackmail, in-
timidate • . . bless, dazzle, fasci-
nate. You can do it, Ben. You can
do it for me. Help me, Ben. I
helped you once."

"I paid through the nose for
that help."

"And I? What did I pay?" the
peeper screamed. "I paid with
my life!"

"You paid with your stu-
pidity."

"For God's sake, Ben, help me!
Help me or kill me. I just haven't
the guts to commit suicide."

"I haven't got that price in
my pocket, Jerry. Nobody has/*

"AH right. Listen." Church
tightened his grasp on Reich's
wrists and leaned farther for-
ward. "Here's what you can do.
Go to the police. Go to Preston
Powell. Tell him what really hap-
pened in the Chaos Swindle. It'll
be a confession, but you'll get
off, Ben. A big man like you can
always get off. And I'll be cleared,
I can get back into the Guild,
What do you say?"

THE DEMOLISH ED MAN

5'J

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

After a pause, Reich said bru-
tally: "I think the best thing for
you, Jerry, would be suicide."

The peeper flung himself back
as though he had suddenly been
scorched.

"Now tell me the price," Reich
said.

Deliberately, Church spat on
the money. "There will be no
charge,*' he said, and turned and
disappeared into the shadows of
the cellar. J

TTNTIL it was destroyed for

^ reasons lost in the misty con-
fusion of the late 20th Century,
the Pennsylvania Station in New
York City was, unknown to mil*
lions of travelers, a link in time.
Commuters hurtling down the
east escalators to the terminal
floor rarely looked up at the tow-
ering interior columns and
groined vaults. Those tourists

THE DEMON SHED MAN

who gaped and gasped rarely
knew that all this had been be-
fore. They could not know that it
would be again. The interior of
the giant terminal was a replica
of the mighty Baths of Caracalla
in ancient Rome, So also was the
sprawling mansion of Maria
Beaumont, known to her thou-
sand most intimate enemies aj
The Gilt Corpse.

As Ben Reich glided down the
cast ramp with Dr. T8 at his side
and murder in his pocket, he
communicated with his senses ia
ttacatto spurts. The sight of the
mob on the floor below • • • the
glitter of uniforms, of dress, of
phosphorescent flesh, of beams
of pastel light swaying on stilt
legs . . .

The sound of voices, of music*
of annunciators, of echoes . . «
The kinesthetic squeeze of his
chest in a clash of hatred and
terror . . . Tension, apprehension
and dissension • . . The wonderful
potpourri, the scent of flesh and
perfume, of food, of wine, of gilt
ostentation . . . Tension, appre-
hension . . .

The gilt trappings of death, of
Something which had failed for
seventy years. A lost art * . . as
lost as phlebotamy, chtertirgy,
alchemy . . * He'd bring death
back. Not the hasty, crazy kill-
ing of the psychotic, the brawler,
the killings they knew then, but
the deliberate, planned —

•CI

s For God's sake?" T8 mut-
tered. "Be careful, man. Your
murder's showing.**

Eight, sir; seven, sir . , .

"That's better. Here's one of
the peeper secretaries. He just
wants to rub elbows with the
mighty, but keep singing."

A slender, willowy young man,
all gush, all cropped golden hair,
all violet blouse and silver cu-
lottes :

"Dr. T8! Mr. Reich!. I'm
speechless. Actually."
Six, sir; Sve, sir . . .

T8 shook hands with the seen
tary. "Hello, Glass. Nice seeing
you. Miss you at the Guild meet'
ings"

U I love you for saying it, hut
I hate you because you don't
mean it" The peeper glanced at
Reich curiously. "Whatever is
going on in Mr. Reich's nund?"

'Some idiotic song plaguing
him. Like those ad jingles'*

"Or that old story of Mark
tains about the poem that
haunted him? You know—

Conductor, when you receive m farm,
Funch in the presence ol the pa*sen-

jare!
A blue trip slip lor an eight-cent fare,
A buff trip slip ior a six-cent faro.
A pink trip slip for a three-cent fare,
Funch in the presence ot the pasven-

jmret

Chorus
Funch, brothers! punch with caref
Funch in the presence of the pa*sen-

4i,

jare

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

"Exactly. Reich's got himself
infected the same way."

"You mean the great maris
actually human?"

"Superhuman" T8 darted a
glance of respect mixed with mal-
ice at his dragooning employer.

Plunging into the pools of
guests was like diving into a trop-
ical aquarium. Swirls of glitter-
ing, brilliant human fish. Tables
of gilt comestables like white and
cold coral islands. Voices like
bubbles, all tinkle and pop- The
ceaseless ground-swell of the
party heaving in quick tides
around the celebrities.

Maria Beaumont clove through
the waters, arms outstretched,
eyes outstretched , bosom out-
stretched . , • her body trans-
formed by pneumatic surgery
into an exaggerated East Indian
figure with puffed hips, puffed
calves and puffed gilt breasts.

"Ben, darling creature!" She
embraced him with pneumatic
intensity. "It's too too wonder*

m»

"It's too too plastic, Maria.**
"Have you found that lost mil-
lion yet?"

'Just laid hands on it now.*
'Be careful, audacious lover.
I'm having every morsel of this
divine party recorded."

Over her shoulder, Reich shot
a glance at T8, hovering like an
escort destroyer. T8 shook his
head reassuringly.

<M,

#41

'Come and meet everybody
who's everybody," Maria said
She took his arm. In her pea-hen
whisper, she shrilled: "We'll have
ages for ourselves later,"

The lights in the groined vaults
overhead changed again and
shifted up the spectrum. The
costumes changed color. Skim
that had glowed pink now shone
with eerie luminescence.

Symon Zigerra • * • Jeanny
Wonchalk.. . • Tom Moyse, still
hating him for that dirty trick at
the Tycho Conference » . . Gloria
Blomefield, Jr., still as sensual as
that September weekend when he
took the Blomefield formula from
her by resisting her , . . Bill Win-
ter, still pleading for justice with
his silent, terrified eyes . . . Bart
Van Tuerk . „ * Edmund Barr,
who had to be blackmailed out
of that Sacrament expose . . •
Toni Asj, still wearing that dia-
mond he gave her when she sub-
mitted to degradation to buy
back those shares of the Stellar
Syndicate. She never got the
shares, but she had the diamond.
She attributed her degeneracy to
him, he'd heard.

On his left flank, T8 gave the
prearranged signal;

Danger !

Tension, apprehension and dis-
sension have begun, RIFF. Ten-
sion, apprehension and dissent ion
have begun . . .

Maria was introducing another

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

lad, all gush, all crapped copper
hair, all fuchsia blouse and Prus-
sian blue culottes.

"Larry Ferar, Ben. My other
social secretary. Larry's been dy-
ing to meet you."

Four ; sir; three, sir . . .

"Mr. Reich! But too thrilled.
I can't utter word one/'

Two, sir; one!

The young man accepted
Reich's smile and moved on* Still
circling in convoy, T8 gave Reich
a reassuring nod. Again the over-
head lights changed. Portions of
the guests' costumes appeared to
dissolve. Reich, who had never
succumbed to the fashion of
wearing ultra-violet windows in
his clothes, stood secure in his
opaque suit, watching with con-
tempt the quick, roving eyes
around him.

T8 signaled: Danger!

Tenser, said the Tensor . * ,

Glass appeared at Maria's el-
bow. "Madame," he lisped, "a
slight contretemps."

'What is it?"

"The Chervil boy. Galen Cher-
vil."

T8's face constricted.

"What about him?" Maria
peeped through the crowd.

"Left of the fountain. An im-
postor, -mad'amc. I have peeped
him. He has no invitation. He's
a college student. He bet he could
crash the party. He intends to
steal a picture of you as proof/'

"Of me?" Maria said, staring
through the windows in young
Chervil's clothes. "What does he
think of me?"

"Well, madame, he's extremely
difficult to probe. I think he'd
like to steal more from you than

your picture."

"Oh, would he?" Maria cack-
led.

, "He would, madame. Shall he
be removed?"

"No." Maria glanced once
more at the formidable young
man, then turned away. "He'll
get his proof."

"And it won't be stolen," Reich
said.

"Jealous!" she squawked.
"Let's dine."

In response to T8*s urgent sign.
Reich stepped aside momentarily.

"Reich, you've got to give it
up."

"You're crazy! Why should I?"

"The Chervil boy."

"What about him?"

"He's a 2nd."

"Damn!"

"He's precocious, brilliant. I
met him at Powell's last Sunday.
Maria Beaumont never invites
peepers to her house. I'rti only in
on your pass.- I was depending on
that."

i'And this kid has to crash!"

"Give it up, Reich."
: * f Maybe T Can stay Away from
htm. ? '

"Reich, I can block the social

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTIO

* *

secretaries; they're only 3rds. But
I can't guarantee to handle them
and a 2nd, even if he is only a
kid. He's young and he may be
too nervous to do any clever
peeping. But I can't promise/*

"I'm not quitting/' Reich
growled. "I'll never get a chance
like this again. Even if I knew
I could, I wouldn't quit I
couldn't. I've got the stink of
D'Courtney in my nostrils. I — "

"Then we'd better have the
Chervil boy bounced/'

"Not a chance. You saw the
way she looked him over/*

"What are you going to do?"

"Go through with it, damn
you !"

-You'll never—"

Reich turned his scowl full on
T8*s nervous face. "I know you're
looking for a chance to squirm
out of this, you little bastard. But
you won't. We're trapped in this
together, right down the line, all
the way to Demolition/'

He shaped his distorted face
into a frozen smile and rejoined
his hostess on a couch alongside
one of the tables. It was still the
custom to feed each other at
these affairs, but the gesture that
had originated in Oriental cour-
tesy and generosity had degener-
ated into erotic play. The morsels
of food were accompanied by
tongue touched to fingers and
were as often offered between the
lips.

Reich endured it all with a
seething impatience, waiting for
the vital word from T8. Part of
T8's Intelligence work was to lo-
cate D'Courtney 's hiding place in
the house. He watched the little
peeper drift through the crowd of
diners, probing, prying, searching,
until he at last returned with a
negative shake of his head and
gestured toward Maria Beau-
mont. Clearly, Maria was the
only source of information, and
she was too obsessed to be easily
probed. It was another in a never-
ending series of crises that had to
be met by the killer- instinct.

Between the Truite Au Bleu

and the Saucisses Au Vin Blanc,
Reich ^rose and crossed toward
the fountain. T8 intercepted him.

"What are you up to, Reich ? fi

"Isn't it obvious? Get the Cher-
vil boy off her mind."

"Reich, don't go near that
boy P

"Get out of my way. 5 * Reich
radiated a burst of savage com-
pulsion that made the peeper re-
coil. He signaled in fright and
Reich tried to control himself.

i# It*s taking chances, I know,
but the odds aren't as long as
you think. In the first place, he's
young and green. In the second
place, he's a crasher and scared.
In the third place , he can't be fly-
ing full jets or he wouldn't have
let the secretaries peep him so
easily."

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

"Have you got any conscious
control? Can you double -think?"

"I've got that song on my mind
and enough trouble to make
double-thinking a pleasure. Now
get the hell out of the way and
stand by to peep Madame, The
Gilt Corpse/'

CHERVIL was eating alone
alongside the fountain, clum-
sily attempting to appear to
belong.

"Pip " said Reich.

"Pop," said Chervil.

"Bint," said Reich.

"Barn," said Chervil.

With the formality of slang
disposed of, Reich eased himself
down alongside the boy. "I'm
Ben Rrfch,"

"I'm Gaily Chervil. I mean
Galen, I — " He was visibly im-
pressed by the name of Reich.

Tension, apprehension and dis-
tension . . .

"That damned song," Reich
muttered. "Heard it for the first
time the other day. Can't get it
out of my mind. Eight, sir; seven,
sir; six, sir; five — Oh, for God's
sake! Talk to me, Chervil, before
I go crazy."

"What should I talk about?"

"Ever been in The Gilt Corpse
before?"

'Do you mean the house?"
Pop/' grinned Reich,
Pip," smiled the boy.

*She knows you're a phony.**

"No!"

Reich nodded. Tension, appre-
hension ...

"Should I start running?"

"Without the picture?"

"You know about that too?
There must be a peeper around/*

"Two of them. Her social sec-
retaries. People like you are their
job."

"What about that picture, Mr.
Reich? I've got fifty dollars rid-
ing on it. You ought to know
what a bet means. You're a gamb
—I mean, financier/'

"Glad I'm not a peeper, eh?
Never mind, I'm not insulted.
See that arch? Go straight
through and turn right. You'll
find a study. The walls are
lined with Maria's portraits, all
in synthetic stones. Help yourself.
She'll never miss one."

The boy leaped up, scattering
food off his lap- "Thanks, Mr.
Reich. Some day 1*11 do you a
favor."

"Such as?"

"You'd be surprised. I happen
to be a — " He caught himself and
blushed, "You'll find out, sir.
Thanks again." He began weav-
ing his way across the floor to-
ward the north arch.

Four, sir; three, sir; two, sir;
one!

Reich returned to his hostess.

"Naughty lover," she said.
"Who've you been feeding? I'll
tear her eyes out,"

OALAXY SCIENCE FICTIOM

"The Chervil boy/* Reich an-
swered. "He asked me where you
keep your pictures."

"Ben! You didn't tell him!"

"Sure did. He's on his way to
get one now. Then hell take off.
You know I'm jealous."

She leaped from the couch and
waddled north.

"Bam," said Reich,

¥> Y eleven o'clock, the ritual of
-■-* dining had aroused the com-
pany to a point of intensity that
required solitude and darkness.
Maria Beaumont had never failed
her guests, and tonight Reich
hoped The Gilt Corpse would not
fail him when T8 appeared, look-
ing pleased and yet worried.

"I don't know how you got
away with it," T8 whispered.
^You're broadcasting bloodlust
on every wavelength."

"The kid doesn't know?"

"Not a notion. You were right.
He's scared ... off balance."

"And I know who knocked him
off balance. Where's D'Court-
ney?" Reich grabbed T8's arm.
"Don't tell me he isn't in the
house, you little roach. I can
smell him waiting for me/'

"Reich!" T8 tore his arm away.
"Yes, he's here. Alone. No ser-
vants. Only two bodyguards pro-
vided by Maria. @kins was right.
He's dangerously sick , ♦ /'

"To hell with that I'll cure
him. Where is he?"

u t

Go through the west arch.
Turn right. Up the stairs.
Through overpass. Turn right.
Picture Gallery. Door between
paintings of the Rape of Lucrece
and the Rape of the Sabine
Women . > ."

"That sounds authentic."

"Open the door. Up a flight of
steps to an anteroom. Two guards
in the anteroom. D'Courtney's in-
side. It's the old wedding suite
her grandfather built."

"The wedding suite? I like that
touch."

The Gilt Corpse began to
clamor for attention. Flushed and
shining with perspiration, stand-
ing in the glare of a pink light on
the dais between the two foun-
tains, she clapped her hands for
silence: Smack, smack, smack.
The moist palms beat together,
and the echoes roared in Reich's
ears: Death, death, death,

"Darlings!" she cried. "WeVe
going to have so much fun to-
night. We're going to provide our
own entertainment/' A subdued
groan went up from the guests
and an anonymous voice called:
"I'm just one of the tourists."

Through the laughter, Maria
said: "Naughty lovers, don't be
disappointed. We're going to play
a wonderful old game; and we're
going to play it in the dark."

The company cheered up as
the overhead lights began to dim
and disappear. The dais still

THE DEMOLISHED

blazed and, in the light, Maria
produced a tattered volume.
Reich's gift.
Tension , . .

Maria turned the pages slowly,
blinking at the unfamiliar print.

Apprehension

"It's a game/* Maria cried,
"called Sardine. Isn't that too
adorable?"

She took the bait. She's on the
hook. In three minutes Til be in-
visible. Reich touched his pock-
ets. The disarmed gun. The Rho-
dopsin. Tension, apprehension
and dissension have begun.

"One player," Maria read 1 * is
selected to be It. That's going to
be me. All the lights are ex-
extinguished and the It hides/*

As Maria struggled through the
directions, the great hall was re-
duced to pitch darkness with the
exception of the single pink beam
on the stage.

"Sue — successively, each play-
er finding the Sardines joins them
until all are hidden in one place,
and the last player, who is the
loser, is left to wander alone in
the dark/' The last light blinked
out. Reich was invisible at last.
He bad half an hour to slip up
inte the house, kill D'Courtney,
and then return to the game. T8
was committed to pinning the
peeper secretaries out of the line
of his attack. It was safe. It was
fool-proof except for the Chervil
boy. He had to take that chance.

HE crossed the main hall and
jostled into mewing bodies at
the west arch. He went through
the arch into the music room.
The piezo crystals were resonat-
ing automatically in the back-
ground, but there were muffled
dischords from an open piano as
though the strings were being
used for a wrestling mat. Savage
and intent, Reich ignored this
and turned right, groping for the
stairs. A curse and a clash
sounded from the piano, then
shod feet ran .across the floor and
somebody soft banged into him.

"If you touch me," the voice
of Duffy Wyg& cried hysterically,
'Til kill you."

Reich froze. "Duffy!" he ex^
claimed, and then could have toi u
his tongue out.

"Who's that? Mr. Reich r

"Yes."

Her hand touched his arm and
felt the cloth. "Bless you, Mr.
Reich." She leaned against him
weakly. "God bless that hideous
tweed."

"What's the matter, Duffy?
Don't you like the gutter?"

"I don't like the company."

"Then go back to Melody

Lane."

She held tight to his arm. "This
is my first and last visit. How do

I get out of this sty?"

"Back through the main hall

and up the ramp."

"I don't know which way is

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

which. Get me out of here, Mr.
Reich. I need a bodyguard/'

In an agony of impatient fury,
he searched for excuses. A retch-
ing voice' behind him said: "Can
I d-do you a favor, Mr* Reich?"

"Who's that?"

"A refugee. Galen Chervil.
Slightly sick."

Eight, sir; seven, sir; six, sir;
five, sir . „ .

The Chervil boy loomed in the
darkness alongside. "I had to run
hard to get away from that . . .
picture. I'm still running, between
spasms. I never was happier to
lose fifty dollars/'

Four, sir; three, sir; two, sir;
one!

I'm running too," Duffy said.
Just babes in the woods/'
Chervil said. "High-life. Pfoo!
Let's run together/'

"Do you know the way out in
the dark?"

Tenser, said the Tensor. Ten-
ser, said the Tensor.

"I can find it. Give me -your
hand, Duffy/'

"How do you know my name? 1 '

"Oop. Slip of the mind. Not
myself tonight. Coming with us,
Mr. Reich?"

Tension, apprehension and dis-
sension have begun.

"No/' Reich choked. "Wish I
could. Impossible. You two kids
get out of here. Jet!"

They scuttled off in the dark*

RIFF!.

*<T*

At the foot of the stairs he was
forced to climb over a barrier of
bodies with octopus arms that
tried to pull him down. He as-
cended the stairs, seventeen eter-
mal steps, and felt his way
through a close tunnel overpass
papered with velour. Suddenly he
was seized and a woman crushed
herself against him.

"Hello, Sardine/' she whispered
in his ear. "Ow!" she exclaimed,
feeling the hard outlines of the
gun in his breast pocket. "What's
that?" He slapped her hand away.
"Clever up, Sardine/' she giggled.
"Get out of the can."

He divested himself of her and
bruised his nose against the dead-
end of the overpass. He turned
right, opened a door and found
himself in a vaulted gallery over
fifty feet long. The lights were
extinguished here, too, but the lu-
miniscent paintings, glowing un-
der ultraviolet spotlights, filled
the gallery with a virulent glow.
It was empty.

Between a livid Lucrece and a
horde of buttocky Sabine Women
was a door of polished bronze.
Reich stopped before it, removed
the tiny Rhodop$in Ionizer from
his back pocket and attempted to
poise the copper tube between
his thumbnail and forefinger. His
hands were trembling so violently
that he could not control them.

His fingers steadied. He poised
the Rhodopsin cap, then thrust

THE DEMOUSHED MAN

open the bronze door, revealing
nine steps mounting to an ante-
room, Reich flipped his thumb-
nail against the copper cube as
though he were trying to flip a
penny to the Moon.

As the Rhodopsin cap flew up
into the anteroom, Reich averted
his eyes. There was a cold purple
flash. Reich leaped up the stairs*

The two Beaumont House
guards were seated on the bench
where he had caught them. Their
faces were * sagging, their* visual
sense destroyed, their time sense
abolished, their synapses clatter-
ing in sliort-circuited chaos. They
were out of the continuum.

If anyone entered and found
the guards before he was finished,
he was on the road to Demolition.
If the guards revived before he
was finished, he was on the road
to Demolition. No matter what
happened, it was a final gamble
with Demolition.

Leaving the last of his sanity
behind him, Reich pushed open a
jeweled door and entered the wed-
ding suite.

REICH found . himself in a
spherical room that was the
heart of a giant orchid. The walls
were curling orchid petals, the
pillars were stamens, the floor was
a golden calyx; the chairs, tables
and couches were orchid and gold.

But the room was old . . . old . . ♦
the petals faded and peeling, the
golden tile floor ancient and the
tessellations splitting. There was
an old, old man stretched on the
couch, musty and wilted, like a
dried weed . . . like the dessica-
tion of a venomous mandrake
root.

It was D'Courtney, stretched
out like a corpse.

Reich slammed the door in
rage. "You can't be dead! I can't
be charted!"

The faded man started up,
stared, then arose painfully from
the couch, his face breaking into
a smile.

"Still alive !" Reich cried ex-
ultantly.

D'Courtney stepped toward
Reich, smiling, his arms out-
stretched, as though welcoming a
prodigal son. The smile was al-
most imbecile. x

Alarmed again, Reich growlc-d:
"Are you deaf?**

The old man shook his head.

"You speak English, you son of
a bitch," Reich shouted. "You can
hear me. You can understand me,
I'm Reich. Ben Reich of Sacra-
ment/ 1

D'Courtney nodded, still smil-
ing. His mouth worked sound-
lessly. His eyes glistened with
sudden tears,

"What the hell is the matter
with you? I'm Reich. Ben Reich!
Do you know me? Answer me."

«0

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

D'Courtney shook his head and
tapped his throat. His mouth
worSftd again. Rusty sounds
came; then words as faint as dust:
"Ben . „ , dear Ben . . , waited so
long. Now . 7 . can't talk. My
throat . , . can't talk." Again he
attempted to embrace Reich,

Bristling, Reich stepped around
D'Courtney like an animal, his
hackles raised, the murder boil-
ing in his blood, the horrible im-
ages of D'Courtney's agony rush-
ing through his congested eyes.
His breath came in gasps. His
heart pounded. He poised him-
self before D'Courtney and glared
into the old man's face.

D' Courtney's mouth formed
the words: "Dear Ben . . ."

"You know why I'm here.
What are you trying to do — make
love to me?" His hand lashed
out. The old man reeled back
from the slap and fell into an
orchid chair that looked like a
wound.

"Listen to me, you old son of
a bitch." Reich followed D'Court-
ney and stood over him, "This
payoff's been on the fire for years.
Fire? Volcano! And you want to
turn aside the magma with a
Judas kiss!"

"Ben," D'Courtney whispered
in horror- "Listen, Ben . . ."

"You've been at my throat for
ten years. Ten years? There was
room enough for both of us. Sac-
rament and D' Courtney. All the

room in time and space, but you
wanted my blood, my heart. The
Man With No Face!"

D'Courtney shook his head in
bewilderment. "No, Ben. No , . **

"Don't call me Ben. I'm no
friend of yours. Last week I gave
you one more chance to wash in
decency. Me. Ben Reich. I asked
for armistice. Merger, My father
would spit on me if he were alive.
Every fighting Reich would
blacken my face with contempt.
But I asked for peace, didn't I?
Eh?" Reich prodded D'Courtney
savagely. "Didn't I?"

CVCourtney's face was blanched
and staring. Finally he whispered:
"Yes. You asked ... I accepted/*

"Accepted!" Reich cut in
sharply. "Are these the tactics
that win for you? It isn't possible,
is it? The phony affection. Dear
Ben. The warmth from a frozen
heart. Empty stupid lies. What
imbecile could swallow them?"

Reich reached down and
yanked D'Courtney to his feet.
The old man was frail and light,
but his weight bruised Reich's
arm, and the touch of the old skin
burned Reich's fingers.

"No merger. No peace. Death-
That's the choice, eh?"

D'Courtney shook his head and
tried to make signs.

"Will you surrender?'*

"Yes," D'Courtney whispered,
"Yes, Ben. Yes."

"Liar! Protective mimicry.

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

«1

That's your trick. You imitate
the iciiots and trap us at your
leisure. But not me. Never!"

"I'm not ; , . your enemy, Ben.*

"No," Reich spat. "You're not
• because you're dead. You've been
dead ever since I came into this
orchid coffin. Man With No Face!
Can you hear me screaming for
the last time? You're finished!'*

Reich tore the gun out of his
breast pocket. He touched the
stud and it opened like a red steel
flower. D' Courtney backed away
in horror. Reich caught the back
of D'Courtney's thin neck and
wrenched the head toward him.
He had to fire through the open
mouth for the trick to work.

At that instant, one of the or-
chid petals swung open, and a
girl burst into the room. In a ca-
tastrophic blaze of surprise,
Reich saw the corridor behind
her, a bedroom door standing
open at the far end; the girl, yel-
low hair flying, dark eyes wide in
alarm ... a lightning flash of
wild beauty.

"Father!" she screamed.

She ran toward D'Courtney.
Reich swung quickly between
them, never relaxing his hold on
the old man. The girl stopped
short, backed away, then darted
to the left around Reich, scream-
ing. Reich pivoted and cut vi-
ciously at her with the stiletto.
She eluded him, but was driven
back of the couch. Reich thrust

the point of the stiletto between
the old man's teeth and forced
his jaws open. <*■

"No!" she cried. "No! Father!"

Reich pulled the trigger. There
was a muffled explosion and a
gout of blood spurted from the
back of D'Courtney's head. Reich
let the body drop.

The girl fell forward to her
knees and crawled to the body.
She moaned in pain as she
snatched the gun from the mouth,
where it had still hung. Then she
crouched over the twitching
body, silent, fixed, staring intc
the waxen face.

Reich gasped for breath and
beat his knuckles together pain-
fully. When the roaring in his
ears subsided, he propelled him-
self toward the girl, trying to
arrange his thoughts and make
split-second alterations in his
plans. He had never counted on a
witness. No one mentioned a
daughter. God damn T8! Now
he would have to kill the girL

She leaped to her feet, dart<<!
out of his sodden grasp, ran to
the jeweled door, flung it open
and ran into the anteroom. As
the door slowly closed, Reich had
a glimpse of the guards still
slumped on the bench and the
girl running silently down the
stairs with the gun in her hands
. • . with Demolition in her hands.

The clogged blood began

C A I A X Y SCIENCE FICTION

pounding through his veins again.
He reached the door, ran through
and tore down the steps to the
picture gallery. It was empty,
but the door to the overpass was
just closing., And still no sound
from her. Still no alarm. How
long before she started screaming
the house down?

He raced down the gallery and
entered the overpass. It was
still pitch dark. He blundered
through, reached the head of the
stairs that led down to the music
room and paused again. He went
down the steps. The dark silence
was terrifying. Why didn't she
scream? Where was she?

Reich crossed toward the west
arch and knew he was at the
edge of the main hall by the quiet
plash of the fountains. Where was
the girl? In all that black silence,
where was she? And the gun!
Christ! The tricked gun!

A hand touched his arm. Reich
jerked in alarm. T8 whispered:
"I've been standing by. It took
you exactly — "

"You clumsy peeper !'* Reich
burst out. "There was a daugh-
ter! Why didn't you — "

T8 muttered, "Let me peep it."
After fifteen seconds of burning
silence, he began to tremble. In a
terrified voice he whined; "My
God! Oh, my God . . *

His terror was the catalyst.
Reich's control returned. He be-
gan thinking again* "Shut up/'

he growled. "It isn't Demolition
yet/'

"You'll have to kill her too,
Reich. YouTI— "

"Find her first. Cover the
house. You got her pattern from
me. Locate her. I'll be waiting at
the fountain. Jet!"

He flung T8 from him and
staggered to the fountain. At the
jasper rim, he bent and bathed
his burning face in the water. It
was sparkling burgundy. Reich
wiped his face and ignored the
muffled sounds that came from
the other side of the basin. Evi-
dently some persons were bathing
in wine*

He considered swiftly. The girl
must be located and killed. At
once. If she still had the gun
when T8 found her, the gun
would be used. If she didn't?
Strangle her? No, the fountain.
She could be found drowned in
the fountain . . . just another
guest who had bathed in wine
too long. But it had to be soo*i t
before this damned Sardine game
was ended. Where was T8?
Where was the girl?

T8 came blundering up through
the darkness, wheezing.

"Well?"

"She's gone/*

"You weren't gone long enough
to find out. If this is a double-
cross — *

"Whom could I cross? I'm on
the same road you are. I tell you

THf DEMOLISHES MAN

her pattern's nowhere in the
house. She's gone/ 1

''Anyone notice her leave?"

"No/'

"Out of the house!"

"We'd better leave, too."

"Yes, but we can't run. Once
we get out of here, we'll have the
rest of the night to find her, but
we can't sneak out. Too suspi-
cious. Where's Maria?"

"For God's sake, Reich , - ."

"I tell you we've got to leave
as though nothing's happened,
Where's The Gilt Corpse?"
In the projection room/*
Watching a Panty?"
l No. Still playing Sardine.
They're packed in there like fish
in a can. We're almost the last
out here in the house."

"Wandering alone in the dark,
eh? Come on."

. He gripped T8's shaking elbow
and marched him toward the pro-
jection room. As he walked, he
called plaintively: "Hey, where
is everybody? Maria!"

T8 emitted a hysterical sob.
Reich shook him roughly. "Play
up! Well be out of here in five
minutes. Then you can start
worrying."

"If they find the body before
we leave, we're sunk."

"Who'll find the body?"
. "The guards."

"Not in five minutes. They're
out of this world. Well out"

"Servants."

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

THE DEMOLISHED MAN

«'

They won't leave their quar-
ters till the Sardine game is over.
I tell you we'll be safe in five
minutes."

"But if weVe trapped in here,
we won't be able to get the girl.
Well—"

"We won't be trapped. ABC,
Gus — audacious, brave and con-
fident." Retch pushed open the
door of the projection room.
There was darkness in here, too,
but the heat of many bodies.
"Hey," he called. "Where is ev-
erybody? I'm all alone."

No answer.

"Maria, I'm all alone in the
dark."

A muffled sputter, then a burst
of laughter.

"Darling!" Maria called.
"You've missed all the fun, poor
dear."

"Where are you, Maria? I've
come to say good night."

"Oh, you can't be leaving."
) "Sorry, dear. It's late. I've got
to swindle a friend tomorrow.
Where are you, Miria?"

"Come up on the stage, dar-

lin,V'

Retch walked down the aisle,

felt for the steps and mounted the
stage. He felt the cool perimeter
off the Pantys gtpbe behind him.
A voice called: "All right. Now
we've **ot him. T,i<vhts!"

White light Hooded the gtobc

and blinded Reich. The guests
seated in the chairs around the
stage started to whoop with
laughter, then howled in disap-
pointment.

"Oh Ben, you cheat," Maria
screeched. "You're still dressed.
Xhat isn't fair. WeVe been catch-
ing everybody divinely fla-
grante."

"Some other time, Maria dear/"
Reich extended his hand befoi
htm and began the graceful bow
of farewell. "Respectfully, ma-
dame, I give you my thanks
for — " He broke off in amaze-
ment. On the gleaming white lace
of his cuff, an angry red spot ap-
peared.

In stunned silence, Reich saw
a second, then a third red splotch
appear. He snatched his hand
back and a red drop spattered on
the stage before htm, to be fol-
lowed by a slow, inexorable
stream of crimson droplets.

"That's blood!" Maria
screamed. "There's someone up-
stairs bleeding. Ben, for heaven's
sake, you c£ti*t leave now. Lights!
Lights!"

Blood — dripping through the
ceiling — D'Courtney's blood, Not
enough to fill a teaspoon yet, but
Reich felt he was drowning in it.

Tension, apprehension and dis-
sension have begun . . .

—ALFRED BUSTCR

Continued Next Month

GALAXY SCIlMCf FICTION

dead

end

By WALLACE MACFARLANE

Sparing people'* feelings h deadly.
It leads to— no feelings, no pecplel

Illustrated by DAVID STONE

CIENT1ST William Man-
ning Norcross drank his
soup meticulously and
scooped up the vegetables at the
bottom of the cup, while his at-
tention was focused on the tele-
vision screen. He watched girls
swimming in formation as he
gnawed the bone of his steak. He
stolidly ate the baked potato with
his fingers when the girls turned
around, displaying "Weejees Are
Best*' signs pasted to their
shapely backs. The final flourish
was more formation swimming,
where they formed a wheel under
Water, swimming past the camera

to display in individual Utters
stuck to their bare midriffs:
"Wonderful Weejees!"

Norcross chuckled apprecia-
tively when a fat old man swam
after them with an "Is That
Right?" strung across his behind.
Young men followed him, each
carrying a one-word card that
spelled : "You— Bet— It's— Right
— Don't — Be — Left — Buy
— Wecjees — P The scene ended
on the surface. The grotesque old
man was far in back, while the
young men caught the young
women, and together they kicked
up a cloud of spray in the dis-

BEAD END

tance, which by a trick of photog-
raphy mounted to the sky and the
words swept around the globe in

monstrous letters; 'toy wee-

\**

JEES!

The dessert was apple pie, and
Scientist Norcross turned the
screen to the "Abstractions**
channel. Watching the colors and
patterns form in response to the
music, he finished the pie and
licked his fingers appreciatively.
He pressed a stud to reveal the
mirror wall before he activated
the molecular cleanup.

Not many people would do
that. It was not contrary to mor-
als, exactly, but it was like
scratching in public, and it took
a scientific mind to study the
human form unshaken, immedi-
ately after ingestion. There was
pie on his tunic and gravy in his
hair and a smear of grease from
cheek to ear. With no sign of
squeamishness, he smeared beet
juice on his nose and studied the
effect before he depressed the
"Clear" stud.

He stretched and stood up
While the tray disappeared, then
turned and glanced in the mirror
again. Nothing on him. Clean. He
yawned luxuriantly before he
tapped the "Finish" panel on the
door and stepped forth, an im-
maculate and well-fed gentlemen
of the year 2512.

He had a well -trained sense of
humor, and a smile crossed his

lips as he thought of the terror
a 21st Century man would feel in
such an eating chamber. When
he pressed the clear button, the
barbarian would be clean — really >
sterilely clean — for the first time
in his life, and without clothes,
too. Oh, what a jape that would
be, for the molecular cleanup
would immediately disintegrate
such abominations as the fur of
animals, and much clothing 400
years ago was actually made' of
such things aS sheep hair.

He bowed to a pretty woman
just entering a cubicle and
thought defiantly that a scientific
mind afforded much amusement,
There was no illusion in his icy
clear thoughts, for they were not
befogged by moral questions.

With a sigh, Scientist William
Manning Norcross returned to
the difficult problem he had set
aside while having lunch. The
garden city was beautiful outside,
but he gave only passing atten-
tion to the rain slithering down
the huge dome of force over the
buildings. He did not pause to
admire the everlasting flowers in
their carefully simulated beds of
soil.

John Davis Drumstetter was in
a state of crisis again, and Scien-
tist Norcross was worried.

His fears were well founded.
The young man wheeled on
Scientist Norcross the minute he
stepped through the hedge into

*«

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTIO

44'

the force field under the giant live
oak tree.

"Where are they?" he de-
manded. "I am coming to be-
lieve, Scientist, that your repu-
lation is exceeded only by your
inability to live up to it. The
problem is only an extension of
your own early work. You vol-
unteered cooperation, and I ac-
cepted it gladly, but your delays
are very distressing!"

"Johnny," said Scientist Nor-
cross, "the press of my own ex-
periments — n

Then tell me you won't do it!"

I want to help you. Don't you
remember the years we spent to-
gether in your training to the high
calling of scientist? I took your
young hand. Johnny, and helped
you over the juvenile stumbling
blocks. Why, your first mind ma-
chine was one I gave you, and
when — "

** You're a fraud, Scientist!"
said the young man bitterly.

"The young never appreciate
the old," sighed Norcross.

"Go suck a mango!"

Norcross was shocked. "There's
no call for being obscene, John
Davis Drumstetter," he said
stefnly. "To mention eating to
another person, and right in pub-
lic, where you might be over-
heard—"

"Eat a slipper j% sloppery
mango on television, you old
fool! Smear it all over your face

while you ingest it into your un-
speakable digestive tract!"

"John Davis Drumstetter," said
the scientist with great control,
"I have been your friend since
you were born. Your father and
I became scientists on the same
day. You are young and over-
eager. Just remember," he fin-
ished with a warning shake of his
finger, "Satellite Station One
wasn't built in a day!"

Drumstetter stopped his furi-
ous pacing and subdued his rage
with visible effort He chilled, like
red steel hardening, and when he
spoke he was in full command of
himself.

"Now listen to me, Norcross,
and keep your mouth shut. For
the past forty years I've been
working on the stellar overdrive.
We have the Solar System in our
yeticule, colonies have been estab-
lished on every planet, and ships
have been sent to Alpha Centauri,
with every chance that mankind
has established itself in that solar
system. But in the four hundred
years since science emerged from
the dark ages, we've managed to
creep only four light years away
from home! And you, Scientist,
are withholding your work on the
overdrive relay. Do you under-
stand why your plea of old
friendship does not affect me? lit
the past two years, youVe done
nothing — "

"Experiments that must bt

DEAD END

«*

kept secret," mumbled Norcross.

"And it is my belief/' said the
young man in a clipped, cold
voice, "that you have sold your-
self to your taste buds and diges-
tive tract. Either that/' and here
his burning rage came into the
open, "or you are a pseudo-life!"

At this ultimate insult, Scien-
tist Norcross was silent with in-
dignation. He watched Drumstet-
ter shrug into a stole, turn down
the power to the huge mind ma-
chine, sling his reticule over his
shoulder, and stalk off through
the hedge.

NORCROSS slumped into a
chair, his mind in confusion-
He heard Drumstetter's plane as
it left the ground. Plane, he
thought, his mind avoiding the
problem. Plane. What a curious
name, handed down through the
ages, to call a swift skip powered
by Earth's magnetism. An origi-
nal plane fought the air, buoyed
up by the lift of plane surfaces in
movement. When the movement
stopped, it died.

Died. Death. Pseudo-life.

Scientist Norcross shuddered.
His well -trained sense of humor
did not include abominations.

He took the communication
from his pocket and cleared to
Prime Center. When the prim,
grim face of Prime Center himself
in "the little disc was sharp, Nor-
cross reported what had hap-

**i •

pened, even to the suggestion
Drurnstetter had made that he
was pseudo-life.

"This is very bad,** said Prime
Center. "Monica Drake Lane is
now pseudo-life, too."

"God's name!"

"Took her skip into a cliff in
the Sierra i junta ins yesterday.
Disconnected the anti-collision.
A clear case.**

"What will this do to Drurn-
stetter?"

"Nothing," said Prime Center,
"unless he learns."
Is she ready?"

I'm sending her to you right
now for indoctrination. Reports
are that Drurnstetter is visiting
scientists on the West Coast, and
Probability reports that he may
cover the world before he returns.
Do you understand? Her indoc-
trination must be perfect."

"It always has been." Norcross
pulled his lip. "The same limita-
tion will be in Monica Drake
Lane?" he asked hopelessly,

"Of course," said Prime Center.
"We'll keep you posted on devel-
opments."

"You'd better try women," said
Norcross.

"Women, narcotics, or anything
else! I'd eat a blueberry pie with
my hands behind my back at
high noon," said Prime Center
with fierce obscenity, "if I
thought it would do any good I"

He cut the connection.

?•

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

' «

Norcross was still under the

k tree, lost in contemplation of
a color abstraction on his little
communication, when a tall
blonde girl, brown as a berry,
stepped hesitantly through the
hedge. She walked to him and,
when he looked up, she buried
her face in her hands. He stood
and held her shoulders.

"Now, now," said Scientist
Norcross, "don't cry, my dear.*?

"But this is so puzzling — -and I
wasn't crying," she answered.
What's happened to mc?"

"Sit down, Monica, and tell me
what you think has happened."

"But I don't know. You see,
the last I remember is walking
through the Psych Lab in San
Francisad, and suddenly — sud-
denly, Vm in New York and
they're sending me to you. What
has happened?"

"Where do you first remember
being in New York?"

"In the— oh, 1 don't know!"
She was in a flush of embarrass-
ment.

'Til help you, my dear. You
were in the pseudo-life clinic.
You are not exactly Monica
Drake Lane any longer. She died.
You are pseudo-life."

Her eyes were bright and the
pupils were pinpointed from
shock.

"You are the pseudo-life Mon-
ica Drake Lane. To all outward

appearances, you are an exact

counterpart of the girl. Inwardly?
Well, your internal organs have
been simplified, and you cannot
reproduce. Aside from such minor
changes, you are identical, and
incidentally a much more efficient
creature than your prototype*
And if your mind, which is a very
good one, was a human rnind, I
could not tell you this. Pseudo-
life is a most remarkable thing,
but Lewis and Havinghurst and
Covalt, who developed it 300
years ago, were never able to
imbue pseudo-life with what they
called the minus-one factor,
which includes the phenomenal
human emotional sensitivity,
among other things. Are you feel-
ing better now?"

"Why, yes — " Her voice trailed
off.

"You are no longer a slave of
your emotions," said Scientist
Norcross complacently. "None of

us are.

«<

You — you are — ?"

"Ob, yes. We generally don't
speak of such things, but since
I'm to introduce you to pseudo-
life, I can tell you that I dud
two years ago."

"I'm afraid 1 never & r w
— or Monica Drake Lane ; —

that is, I—"

"You are Monica Drake ■
If you will sit quietly, 111 tell
you about it." Scientist Norcross
took two cigarettes from his reti-
cule and offered the girl one. The

DEAD END

lip play was considered somewhat
daring between the sexes, but un-
der the circumstances he thought
the mild narcotic would be good
for her, as well as the sharpening
of the senses brought on by actu-
ally smoking together.

"When the Americans, who in-
habited this continent, gained
domination of the world in the
2 1st Century, they consolidated
their position by carrying their
customs to the ends of the Earth,
For that matter, to Alpha Cen-
taury if the ships did get through.

"Forgive me/* he interrupted
himself, "if I seem improper or
even immoral in this little talk of
ours. Believe me, it's not with an
easy disregard of proprieties that
I bring myself to speak of such
things.

"Well, the Americans believed,
and rightly so, that death is a
dreadful thing. Until Lewis and
Havinghurst and Covalt devel-
oped pseudo-life, a great deal of
time and effort and money went
into such things as cemeteries —
places where they literally buried
their dead with elaborate cere-
monials and much anguish. They
had other equally wasteful prac-
tices, such as madhouses and
jails, which were done away with
when it became practical to re-
place a useless person with an-
other, who matched the original
to near absolute perfection, but
Without fatal flaws of body or

weaknesses of the mind*

"Emphasis has shifted since
those early years, when the ab-
normals were dealt with, to the
comforting of human beings.
Should John Davis Drumstetter
suffer greatly at the loss of his
mentor, the man who guided him
in the ways of science? Of course
not. He never knew I died."

Norcross puffed complacently;
sending iridescent rainbow smoke
rings over the mind machine.

"And I am his fiancee," said the

girl.

"Should he suffer because you
died? No reason for it," said Nor-
cross heartily. "A psychic trauma
of that nature would make him
desperately unhappy. Happiness
is the proper state in life, as
everyone knows. In fact, you will
make him much happier than
Monica Drake Lane, the original,
ever could,"

"Yes, I shall be happy," mused
the girl, as if feeling a more lim-
ited capacity for sorrow within
herself. "But you spoke of a
minus -one factor."

"Yes, it takes in a lot of things.
Though we are immortal, barring
accidents, and we retain all the
knowledge we had as human be-
ings, the flaw to pseudo-life is
that no original thought is pos-
sible. Students of the matter com-
pare it to glancing at a page in
a dictionary. Of course you don't
consciously remember the words

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTIO

mwa

there, but in pseudo-life you arc
capable of remembering and us-
ing them properly, so to speak,
but not using them creatively.
That is our trouble with John
Davis Drumstetter. I was a bril-
liant physicist, but the under-
standing of new problems is be-
yond my limitations, and he is
beyond me ."

"But I woke in New York," she
said irrelevantly,

"Because your master pseudo-
life file was kept there/' explained
Scientist Norcross. "As a human
being, you were required to visit
the psych lab every month,
where your changed pattern was
recorded by the mind machine.
The pseudo-life girl could never
lose more than a month of the
human being's life. What was
your regular appointment date?"

"The 21st/'

"Let's see — you died yesterday,
so that would be only three days
gone. We're very fortunate/*

"But won't he notice a differ-
ence in me?"

"Absolutely not/'

"Am I — still capable of love?"

Scientist Norcross blew a
plume of rainbow smoke into the
air. "Suppose, my dear, we find
out."

Monica Drake Lane agreed, for
morality, which is essentially or-
ganized taboo that changes as
society changes, had, in the 26th
Century, been confined exclusive-

ly to eating. Scientist Norcross
had often amused himself by im-
agining how people of other ages
would have been outraged by the
moral standards of his own era,
but his famous sense of humor
was not rugged enough to be
amused by the moral standards
of the past Not, at any rate, if
he had had to endure them,
though he found them sufficiently
comic as history*

She built a bower, an attractive
courtship custom that had been
adopted from the birds, and the
day ended much more pleasantly
than Scientist Norcross had ex-
pected at lunch.

HPHE reports came in from
■*■ Prime Center. Drumstetter
stayed in Los Angeles two days.
in San Francisco three, and then
consulted with Dowson in Hono-
lulu. He skipped to New Zealand,
back north to Japan, and swung
across Siberia with short stops at
various laboratories and univer-
sities/He was in Finland for three
days with old Scientist Theophit
Gertsley, who, though little bet-
ter than a witch doctor, called
himself a psychologist.

When John Davis Drumstetter
set his skip down beside the live
oak tree, Scientist Norcross and
Monica Drake Lane were waiting
for him. He was gaunt from hun-
ger and weary from travel, but
the expression in his eyes was

DEAD END

not one to be assuaged by any
food cubicle. Nor vvas'it love he
had been seeking and not found,
for Prime Center had seen to it
that opportunities were offered,
from austere tropical girls to the
warmth -seeking women of the
north, who would even eat with
a member of the opposite sex.

He greeted Scientist Norcross
and his fiancee with an off hand-
edness that Norcross had not ex-
pected, and asked that he be
excused from any long immediate
association with thtm, due to the
press of uncompleted work.

"But, Johnny/' said Monica
Drake Lane, *Tve made a bower
close by, and you seem very
tired."

"There's work to be done said
the young man firmly. "I have
no time to — Wait. Til see your
bower."

As they walked over the lush
artificial grass, Scientist Norcross
explained that his results from
the overdrive re lay equations
were in the mind machine even
now, but John Davis Drumstetter
only patted him on the shoulder
in a friendly way and told him
not to bother.

When they reached the bower,
Scientist Norcross expected that
Drumstt r would sleep there
after all, for it was an exception-
ally pleasant design. The force
field was night, and the sky was
filled with adapted creatures from

Mars dancing to their susurratc
music, and the air was permeated
with the bitter-sweet and exciting
scent of a Venusian lake, the very
odor of romance. In the back-
ground was the song of the sea.

John Davis Drumstetter step-
ped out of the bower and said
gently, "It's one of the nicest I've
ever seen, and we spent some
happy nights in it a year ago,
didn't we, Monica?"

He kissed her gently, as he
might kiss a child, and walked
back to the oak tree.

"He's behaving very oddly,"
reported Norcross to Prime Cen*
tcr, as soon as he could, and gave
the details.

"I'd give a lot to have him
meet a human f emak " said
Prime Center wistfully.

"What shall I do?"

"Stay with him and wait,**
ordered Prime Center. "This is
the first time the hopes of hu-
manity lie in one man. Remember
that. We can only serve," he
added bitterly. "He hasn't tested
the final limitation? Good. Keep
me informed."

JOHN DAVIS DRUMSTET-
TER stayed beside his huge
mind machine for nearly a week*
and, though he was only sixty,
he looked like an old man when
he greeted Monica and Norcross
at the end of that time.

"The relay is finished/' he an-

GALAXY SCIENCE F1CTIO

DEAD END

nouncedL "It's being installed in
the Last Hope now. That's what
I'm calling my ship, the ship to
make mankind free of the stars.
My work on Earth is nearly
done." f

"But, Johnny darling," said
Monica Drake Lane, looking up
at him through her eyelashes,
"what about our marriage?"

He looked at her with grim
pity. "The bower was an old
bower," he answered* "Did you
have the courage to be a unique
in a patterned world? Can you
reproduce, Monica Drake Lane?"

"Oh, Johnny—"

"The final limitation!" he said.
"Humans have the power to com-
mand pseudo-life. Pseudo-life,
answer! I command!"

She sank to the ground.

"No," she said, "no, Johnny, I
can't have a baby. I died over
a month ago. I'm sorry you found

out."

John Davis Drumstetter turned
on Scientist William Manning
Norcross. "You've done no new
work because you have no capac-
ity for it. Correct? Answer,
pseudo-life, I command!"

Norcross lifted a calm face.
"Why, yes," he said, "I'm pseudo-
life. Have been for over two years.
Tut don't you worry, Johnny, it's
I zilit this way and only natural

that—"

John Davis Drumstetter paid

no attention. He spoke as if ex-

plaining to himself. # 'You see,
they're pseudo-life, dancing to the
very end of the masquerade ball
that started so long ago. It be-
gan when measurable science, the
science of finity, made a finite
man, a man nearly as good. It
was the mental climate of an
age that wanted its books di-
gested, and then abandoned read-
ing for television. They froze
food and precooked it and said
it was even better than garden
fresh vegetables.

"Do it the easy way, they said,
never knowing that the hard way
is the only way in the last analy-
sis. Why try to cure a neurotic
when you can make a pseudo-life
of him? Don't let his grieving
friends and relations suffer; pro-
vide them with a pseudo-life.
He's just the same, they said, and
he's not sick. And should a man
die? Oh, no! Make a pseudo-life
for his wife and children."

"But Johnny—"

"Be still, \ pseudo-life! Why
bother with men who were be-
ginning to understand the human
mind, when you can create
pseudo-life? The cheap drives out
the good every time. Oh, with the
kindliest intentions, with the soft-
est sympathies! Hide. Conceal.
The truth be damned!"

"But, Johnny darling — " began
Monica Drake Lane.

"Be still, pseudo-life. There's
one more thing, the final capstone

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

DEAD END

to mankind's pyramid of folly.*
He got Prime Center on the com-
munication. "Answer, pseudo-
life, I command. Am 1 the last
human being on Earth?*'

"Since you put it that way,"
*sid Prime Center reluctantly,
"you are/* #

"And in the Solar System?"

'I'm afraid so."

The communication dropped
from John Davis Drumstetter's
hand.

"This is the logical conclusion,**
he said slowly. "The actors are
playing on a stage of worlds for
an audience of one. At the solar
observatory on Mercury, astron-
omers study the Sun and send in
their reports, in case I should
glance at them. In the mines of
Pluto, miners dig ore to provide
a market quotation I might see
in the telepapers."

He kicked the communication
•cross the floor.

"Get out " he told them with
Infinite weariness. "The last hu-
man being commands."

HE slept for a day and had
breakfast in full public view
under a tree. Peeping Toms of
both sexes watched him.

Prime Center appeared in per-
ion just as he finished mopping
up the last of his oncc-over-
Jightly egg. Prime Center coughed
and blushed and looked away,
and John Davis Drumstetter

laughed aloud, humorlessly.

"Good morning/ 1 he said cheer-
fully.

"Hm, yes," said Prime Center.

"Sit down. Have an egg?" A
picked light appeared in his eyes,
and he went on in a low, sinister
voice, "A coddled egg, soft and
white and runny? Maybe you
want to gulp some coffee? Or
snap your way through a piece of
crackling toast? No?" His guest
was turning pale and sick-look-
ing. "Well, let me finish this ba-
con, and state your business."

He threw back his head and
slipped the bacon into his mouth.
Prime Center shuddered.

"Scientist Drumstetter" he
said, keeping his gaze fixed on
the trunk of the tree, "I have
come to offer you all the world
Yes, the whole Solar System, in-
cluding the asteroids and Pluto.
You will be more powerful than
Alexander or Caesar or Stalin or
O 1 Toole. We will create a new
office — Prime Squared Center —
to rule the Solar System. Do you
mind not doing that?"

John Davis Drumstetter w-
licking his fingers thoughtfully.
He nodded.

Then you accept?**
'No, I'm through licking my
fingers. I'll give you your answer
on a systemwide communication.
Arrange it, pseudo-life, immedi-
ately.**

As a concession to morality,

< .

6AIAXY SCIENCI FICTION

John Davis Drumstetter agreed
to step into a molecular cleanup
booth. When he came out again,
he spoke to the worlds and all the
ships in space:

"My friends, from now on the
blind will lead the blind. Moral
obliquity has triumphed and be-
comes common morality." He
laughed and rubbed his nose.
"I'm sorry. I was speaking to an
audience of one — myself. What [
want you billions to do is to con-
tinue your work, to maintain the
system as it now stands. Pseudo-
life will be replaced with pseudo-
life till the end of time. It wilj be
a static world. It will be a nearly-
as-good world. It will be a pleas-
ant world by your standards. I
wish you to do this, and you
must, of course, obey my com-
mand. My purpose reaches a
little beyond your natural incli-
nation; this system will serve as
a fertile warning to any beings
with intelligence who may come
after me.

**I will not be with you long,
myself — "

"Suicid*?" asked Prime Center
hopefully.

"Alpha Centauri/* said John
Davis Drumstetter with a chuckle.
"The colonists left because they
didn't like pseudo-life, either.
Good-by to you all."

He snapped off the communi-
cation, waved to the little group
under the tree, and entered the
Last Hope. The entry port swung
closed. The force field glowed,
and then the ship was gone, leav-
ing behind a whirlwind of dust

"Alpha Centauri?" asked Mon-
ica Drake Lane.

"Following the others of his
wild, unstable breed," said Scien-
tist Norcross.

"Easy come, easy go. M the girl
said, shrugging.

Prime Center had the last

word. "Yes, and good riddance*

Human beings have always been

a nuisance,"

— wallaci*; MACFVRLAINK

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DEAD END

■■

•0

GALAXY SCtENCE FICTION

THE GIRLS

FROM EARTH

Problem: How can you arrange marriages with

men in one solor 3y s ^ em t women in another —

and neither willing to leave hi* own world?

By FRANK 9L ROBINSON

Illustrated by EMSH

[HE beasts aren't much
help, are they?"

Karl Allen snatched a
breath of air and gave another
heave on the line tied to the raft
of parampa logs bobbing in the
middle of the river,

'•No/ 1 he grunted, "they're not
They always balk at a time like
this, when they can see it'll be
hard work,"

Joseph Hill wiped his plump
face and coiled some of the rope's
slack around his thick waist.

"Together now, Karl. One!
Two!"

They stood knee- deep in mud
on the bank, pulling and strain*

THE GIRLS FROM EARTH

•1

ing an the rope, while some iFew
yards distant, in the shade of a
grove of trees, their tiny yllumphs
nibbted grass and watched them
critically, but made no effort to
come closer.

"If we're late for ship's land-
ing, Joe f we'll get crossed off the

list."

Hill puffed and wheezed and
took another hitch on the rope.

"That's what I've been think-
ing about/' he said, worried.

They took a deep breath and
hauled mightily on the raft rope.
The raft bobbed nearer. For a
moment the swift waters of the
Karazoo threatened to tear it out
of their grasp, and then it was
beached, most of it solidly, on the
muddy bank. One end of it ^till
lay in the gurgling, rushing
waters, but that didn't matter.
They'd be back in ten hours or
so, long before the heavy raft
could be washed free.

"How much time have we got,
Karl?' 1

The ground was thick with
shadows, and Karl cast a critical
eye at them. He estimated that
even with the refusal of their
yllumphs to help beach the raft,
they still had a good two hours
before the rocket put down at
Landing City.

"Two hours, maybe a little
more/* he stated hastily when
Hill looked more worried. "Time

enough to get to Landing City
and put in for our numbers on

the list."

He turned back to the raft,
untied the leather and horn sad-
dles, and threw them over the
backs of their reluctant mounts.
He cinched his saddle and tied
on some robes and furs behind it.
Hilt watched him curiously.
"What are you taking the furs
for? This isn't the trading
rocket."

"I know. I thought that when
we come back tonight, it might
be cold and maybe shell appre-
ciate the coverings then."

"You never would have thought
of it yourself," Hill grunted.
"Grundy must have told you to
do it, the old fool. If you ask mc f
the less you give them, the less
they'll come to expect. Once you
spoil them, they'll expect you to
do all the trapping and the farm-
ing and the family -raising your-
self."

"You didn't have to sign up,"
Karl pointed out. "You could
have applied for a wife from some
different planet."

"One's probably just as good
as another. They'll all have to
work the farms and raise fami-
lies."

Karl laughed and aimed a
friendly blow at Hill. They fin-
ished saddling up and headed
into the thick forest.

% M

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

TT was quiet as Karl guided his
■** mount along the dimly marked
trail and he caught himself think-
ing of the return trip he would
be making that night. It would
be nice to have somebody new
to talk to. And it would be good
to have somebody to help with
the trapping and tanning, some-
body who could tend the small
vegetable garden at the rear of
his shack and mend his socks and
wash his clothes and cook his
meals.

And it was time, he thought
soberly > that he started to raise a
family, He was mid-twenty now,
old enough to want a wife and
children.

"You going to raise a litter,
Joe?"

Hill started. Karl realized that
he had probably been thinking
of the same thing.

"One of these days I'll need
help around the sawmill," Hill
answered defensively. "Need
some kids to cut the trees, a
couple more to pole them down
the river, some to run the mill
itself and maybe one to sell the
lumber in Landing City. Can't do
it all myself."

He paused a moment, thinking
over something that had just -oc-
curred- to him.

"I've been thinking of your
plans for a garden, Karl. Maybe
I ought to have one for my wife
to take care of, too."

Karl chuckled. "I don't think
she'll have the time!"

They left the leafy expanse of
the forest and entered the grass-
lands that sloped toward Landing
City. He could even see Landing
City itself on the horizon, a
smudge of rusting, corrugated
steel shacks, muddy streets, and
the small rocket port — a scorched
thirty acres or so fenced off with
barbed wire.

Karl looked out of the corner
of his eye at Hill and felt a vague
wave of uneasiness. Hill was a
big, thick man wearing the soiled
.clothes and bristly stubble of a
man who was used to living alone
and who liked it. But once he

took a wife, he would probably
have to keep himself in clean
clothes and shave every few days.
It was even possible that the
woman might object to Hill let-
ting his yllumph share the hut.

The path was getting crowded,
more of the colonists coming onto
the main path from the small
side trails.

Hill broke the silence first. "I
wonder what they'll be like."

Karl looked wise and nodded
knowingly. "They're Earthwom-
en, Joe. Earth!**

It was easy to act as though he
had some inside information, but
Karl had to admit to himself
that he actually knew very little
about it. He was a Second Sys-
tem colonist and had never even

THE GIRLS FIOM EARTH

teen an Earth woman. He had
heard tales, though, and even dis-
counting a large percentage of
them, some of them must have
been true. Old Grundy at the
rocket office, who should know
about these things if anybody
did, seemed disturbingly lacking
on definite information, though
he had hinted broadly enough
He'd whistle softly and wink an
eye and repeat the stories that
Karl had already heard; but he
had nothing definite to offer, no
real facts at all.

Some of the other colonists
whom they hadn't seen for the
last few months shouted greet-
ings, and Karl began to feel some
of the carnival spirit. There was
Jenkins, who had another trap-
ping line fifty miles farther up
the Karazoo; Leonard, who had
the biggest farm on Midplanet;
and then the fellow who special-
ized in catching and breaking in
yllumphs, whose name Karl
couldn't remember.

"They say they're good work-
ers/' Hill said.

Karl nodded. "Pretty, too/*

They threaded their way
through the crowded and muddy
streets. Landing City wasn't big.
compared to some of the cities
on Altair, where he had been
raised, but Karl was proud of it.
Some day it would be as big as
any city on any planet — maybe
even have a population of ten

thousand people or more*

"Joe,* Karl said suddenly,
"what's supposed to make women
from Earth better than women
from any other world?"

Hill located a faint itch and
frowned. "I don't know, Karl. It's
hard to say. They're — well, so-
phisticated, glamorous."

Karl absorbed this in silence.
Those particular qualities were,
he thought, rather hard to define.

The battered shack that served
as rocket port office and head-
quarters for the colonial office
on Midplanet loomed up in front
of them. There was a crowd gath-
ered in front of the building and
they forced their way through to
see what had caused it.

"We saw this the last time we
were here/' Hill said.

"I know," Karl agreed, "but
I want to take another look." He
was anxious to glean all the in-
formation that he could.

It was a poster of a beautiful
woman leaning toward the view-
er. The edges of the poster were
curling and the colors had faded
during the last six months, but
the girl's smile seemed just as in-
viting as ever. She held a long-
stemmed goblet in one hand and
was blowing a kiss to her audi-
ence with the other. Her green
eyes sparkled, her smile was pro-
vocative, A quoted sentence read:
"I'm from Earth!" There was
nothing more except a printed

•4

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

list of the different solar systems
to which the colonial office was
sending the women.

She was real pretty, Karl
thought. A little on the thin side,
maybe, and the dress she was
wearing would hardly be practi-
cal on Midplanet, but she had a
certain something. Glamor, may-
be?

A loudspeaker blared.

"All colonists waiting for the
wife draft assemble for your
numbers! All colonists . . *

There was a jostling for places
and then they were in the rapidly
moving line. Grundy, fat and im-
portant-looking, was handing out

little blue slips with numbers on
them, pausing every now and
then to tell them some entertain-
ing bit of information about the
women. He had a great imagina-
tion, nothing else,

Karl drew the number 53 and
hurried to the grassy lot beside
the landing field that had been
decorated with bunting and huge
welcome signs for the new ar-
rivals. A table was loaded with
government pamphlets meant to
be helpful to newly married colo-
nists. Karl went over and stuffed
a few in his pockets. Other tables
had been set out and were loaded
with luncheon food, fixed by the

THE GIRLS FR OM EARTH

•5

few colonial women in the com-
munity. Karl caught himself
eying the women closely, won-
dering how the girls from Earth
would compare with them.

He fingered the ticket in his
pocket. What would the woman
be like who had drawn the com-
panion number 53 aboard the
rocket? For when it landed, they
would pair up by numbers. The
method had its drawbacks, of
course, but time was much too
short to allow even a few days of
getting acquainted. He'd have to
get back to his trapping lines and
he imagined that Hill would have
to get back to his sawmill and
the others to their farms. What
the hell, you never knew what
you were getting either way, till
it was too late.

"Sandwich, mister? Pop? 1 *

Karl flipped the boy a coin,
picked up some food and a drink,
and wandered over to the landing
field with Hill. There were still
ten minutes or so to go before
the rocket landed, but he caught
himself straining his sight at the
blue sky, trying to see a telltale
flicker of exhaust flame.

The field was crowded and he
caught some of the buzzing con-
versation.

". . • never knew one myself,
but let me tell you . . ."■■

". . • knew a fellow once who
married one, never had a mo-
ment's rest afterward . . /*

* . . no comparison with co-
lonial women. They got cul-
ture ; . r

". , . I'd give a lot to know the
girl who's got number twenty-
five . . ."

"Let's meet back here with the
girls who have picked our num-
bers/' Hill said. "Maybe we
could trade."

Karl nodded, though privately
he felt that the number system
was just as good as depending on
first impressions.

There was a murmur from the
crowd and he found his gaze riv-
eted overhead. High above, in
the misty blue sky t was a sudden
twinkle of fire.

He reached up and wiped his
sweaty face with a muddy hand
and brushed aside a straggly lock
of tangled hair. It wouldn't hurt
to try to look his best

The twinkling fire came nearer.

MR. MacDONALD to see

you, Mr. Escher"

Claude Escher flipped the in-
tercom switch.

"Please send him right in."

That was entirely superfluous,
he thought, because MacDonald
would come in whether Escher
wanted him to or not.

The door opened and shut with
a slightly harder bang than usual
and Escher mentally braced him-

•6

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

sdfl He had a good hunch what
the problem was going to be and
why it was being thrown in their
laps.

MacDonald made himself com-
fortable and sat there for a few
minutes, just looking grim and
not saying anything. Escher knew
the psychology by heart. A short
preliminary silence is always
more effective in browbeating
subordinates than an initial furi-
ous bluster;

He lit a cigarette and tried to
outwait MacDonald, It wasn't
easy — MacDonald had great
staying powers, which was prob-
ably why he was the head of the
department.

Escher gave in first. "Okay,
Mac, what's the trouble? What
do we have tossed in our laps
now?"

**You know the one — coloniza-
tion problem. You know that
when we first started to colonize,
quite a large percentage of the
male population took to the stars,
as the saying goes. The adven-
turesome, the gamblers, the
frontier type all decided they
wanted to head for other worlds,
to get away from it all. The male
of the species is far more adven-
turesome than the female; the
men left — but the women didn't.
At least, not in nearly the same
large numbers.

"Well, you see the problem.
The ratio of women to men here

on Earth is now something like
five to three. If you don't know
what that means, ask any man
with a daughter. Or any psychia-
trist. Husband -hunting isn't just
a pleasant pastime on Earth. It's
an earnest cutthroat business and
I'm not just using a literary
phrase."

He threw a paper on Eschcr's
desk, "You'll find most of the
statistics about it in that, Claude.
Notice the increase in crimes pe-
culiar to women. Shoplifting,
badger games, poisonings, that
kind of thing. It's quite a list.
You'll also notice the huge in-
crease in petty crimes, a lot of
which wouldn't have bothered
the courts before. In fact, they
wouldn't even have been consid-
ered crimes. You know why they

are now?**

Escher shook his head blankly,
"Most of the girls in the past
who didn't catch a husband,"
MacDonald continued, "grew up
to be the type of old maid who's
dedicated to improving the mor-
als and what-not of the rest of
the population. We've got more
puritanical societies now than we
ever "had, and we have more silly
little laws on the books as a re-
sult. You can be thrown in the

pokey for things like violating a
woman's privacy — whatever that
means— and she's the one who
decides whether what you say or

do is a violation or not.**

i .

THE GIRLS FROM EARTH

•7

Escher looked bored. "Not to
mention the new prohibition
which forbids the use of alcohol
in everything from cough medi-
cines to hair tonics. Or the
cleaned up moral code that reeks
—if you'll pardon the expression
—of purity. Sure, I know what
you mean. And you know the
solution. All we have to do is get
the women to colonize/ 1

MacDonald ran his fingers ner-
vously through his hair.

"But it won't be easy, and
that's why it's been given to us.
It's your baby, Claude. Give it a
lot of thought. Nothing's impos-
sible, you know."'

"Perpetual motion machines
are," Escher said quietly. "And
pulling yourself up by your boot-
straps. But I get the point. Nev-
ertheless, women just don't want
to colonize. And who can blame
them? Why should they give up
living in a luxury civilization*
with as many modefn conve-
niences as this one, to go home-
steading on some wild, unex-
plored planet where they have to
work their fingers to the bone and
play footsie with wild animals
and savages who would just as
soon skin them alive as not?"

"What do you advise I do,
then?" MacDonald demanded.
"Go back to the Board and tell
them the problem is not solvable,
that we can't think of anything?"

Escher looked hurt. "Did I say

that? I just said it wouldn't be
easy/ 1

"The Board is giving you a
blank check. Do anything you
think will pay off. We have to
stay within the letter of the law,
of course, but not necessarily the
spirit/'

"When do they have to have a
solution?'*

"As soon as possible. At least
within the year. By that time the
situation will be very serious. The
psychologists say that what will
happen then won't be good/*

"All right,., by then we'll have
the answer."

MacDonald stopped at the
door. "There's another reason
why they want it worked out.
The number of men applying to
the Colonization Board for emi-
gration to the colony planets is
falling off."

"How come?"

.MacDonald smiled. "On the
basis of statistics alone, would
you want to emigrate from a
planet where the women outnum-
ber the men five to three?"

When MacDonald had gone,
Escher settled back in his chair
and idly tapped his fingers on
the desk-top. It was lucky that
the Colonization Board worked
on two levels. One was the well-
publicized, idealistic level where
nothing was too good and every
deal was 99 and 44/100 per cent
pure. But when things got too

• *

GALAXY SCICNCE FICTION

difficult for it to handle on that
level, they went to Escher and
MaeDonald's department The
coal mine level. Nothing was too
low, so long as it worked. Of
course, if it didn't work, you took
the lumps, too.

He rummaged around in his
drawer and found a list of the
qualifications set up by the Board
for potential colonists. He read
the list slowly and frowned. You
had to be physically fit for the
rigors of space travel, naturally,
but some of the qualifications
were obviously silly. You couldn't
guarantee physical perfection in
the second generation, anyway.

He tore the qualification list in
shreds and dropped it in the dis-
posal chute. That would have to
be the first to go.

There were other things that
could be done immediately. For
Qne thing, as it stood now, you
were supposed to be financially
able to colonize. Obviously a stu-
pid and unappealing law. That
would have to go next.

He picked up the sheet of sta-
tistics that MacDonald had left
and read it carefully. The Board
could legalize polygamy, but that
was no solution in the long run.
Probably cause more problems
than it would solve. Even with
women as easy to handle as they
were nowadays, one was still
enough.

Which still left him with the

main problem of how to get peo-
ple to colonize who didn't want
to colonize.

The first point was to convince
them that they wanted to. The
second point was that it might
not matter whether they wanted
to or not.

No, it shouldn't be hard to
solve at all — provided you held
your nose, silenced your con-
science, and were willing to for-
get that there was such a thing as
a moral code.

Ill

OHYLLIS HANSON put the

*- cover over her typewriter and
locked the correspondence draw-
er. Another day was done, an-
other evening about to begin.

She filed into the washroom
with the- other girls and carefully
redid her face. It was getting hard
to disguise the worry lines, to
paint away the faint crow's-feet
around her eyes.

She wasn't, she admitted to
herself for the thousandth time,
what you would call beautiful*
She inspected herself carefully in
her compact mirror. In a sudden
flash of honesty, she had to admit
that she wasn't even what you
would call pretty. Her face was
too broad, her nose a fraction too
long, and her hair was dull. Not
homely, exactly — but not pretty,
either.

THE GIRLS FROM EARTH

Conversation hummed around
her, most of it from the little
group in the corner, where the
extreme few who were married
sat as practically a race apart.
Their advice was sought, their
suggestions avidly followed.

"Going out tonight, Phyl?"

She hesitated a moment, then
slowly painted on the rest of her
mouth. The question was tech-
nically a privacy violator, but she
thought she would sidestep it this
time, instead of refusing to an-
swer point-blank.

"I thought Fd stay home to-
night Have a few things I want
to rinse out."

The black-haired girl next to
her nodded sympathetically.
i- Sure, Phyl, I know what you
mean. Just like the rest of us —
waiting for the phone to ring/*

Phyllis finished washing up
and then left the office, carefully
noting the girl who was waiting
for the boss. The girl was beauti-
ful in a hard sort of way, a plati-
num blonde with an entertainer's
busty figure. Waiting for a
plump, middle-aged man like a
stagestruck kid outside a theatre.

At home, in her small two-
room bachelor- girl apartment,
the stripped and took a hot, suds-
ing shower, then stepped out and
toweled herself in front of a mir-
ror. She frowned slightly. You
didn't know whether you should
keep yourself in trim just on some

off-chance, or give up and let
yourself go.

She fixed dinner, took a mod-
erately long time doing the
dishes, and went through the
standard routine of getting a
book and curling up on the sofa.
It was a good book of the boot-
legged variety — scientifically
written with enough surplus
heroes and heroines and lushly
described love affairs to hold any-
body's interest.

It held hers for ten pages and
then she threw the book across
the room, getting a savage de-
light at the way the pages ripped
and fluttered to the floor.

What was the use of kidding
herself any longer, of trying to
live vicariously and hoping that
some day she would have a home
and a husband? She was thirty
now; the phone hadn't rung in
the last three years. She might as
well spend this evening as she
had spent so many others— call
up the girls for a bridge game and
a little gossip, though heaven
knew you always ended up envy
ing the people you were gossiping
about.

Perhaps she should have joined
one of the organizations at the
office that did something like that
seven nights out of every seven.
A bridge game or a benefit for
some school or a talk on art. Or
x she could have joined the Lecture
of the Week club, or the YWCA,

■ •

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

or any one of the other govern-
ment-sponsored clubs designed to
fill the void in a woman's life.

But bridge games and benefits
and lectures didn't take the place
of a husband and family. She was
kidding herself again.

She got up and retrieved the
battered book, then went over to
the mail slot. She hadn't had time
to open her mail that morning;
most of the time it wasn't worth
the effort. Advertisements for
book clubs, lecture clubs, how to
win at bridge and canasta . • •

Her fingers sprang the metal
tabs on a large envelope and she
took out the contents and spread
it wide.

She gasped. It was a large
poster, about a yard square. A
man was on it, straddling a tiny
city and a small panorama of
farms and forests at his feet. He
was a handsome specimen, with
wavy blond hair and blue eyes
and a curly mat on his bare chest
that was just enough to be at-
tractive without being apelike. He
held an axe in his hands and was
eying her with a clearly inviting
look of brazen self-confidence.

It was definitely a privacy vio-
lator and she should notify the
authorities immediately f

Bright lettering at the top of
the poster shrieked: "Come to
the Colonies, the Planets of Ro-
mance!"

Whoever had mailed it should

be arrested and imprisoned! Prey-
ing on . . .

The smaller print at the bot-
tom was mostly full of facts and
figures. The need for women out
on the colony planets, the per-
centage of men to women — a
startling disproportion — the com-
fortable cities that weren't nearly
as primitive as people had imag-
ined, and the recently reduced
qualifications.

She caught herself admiring
the man on the poster. Naturally,
it was an artist's conception, but
even so . > .

And the cities were far in ad-
vance of the frontier settlements,
where you had to battle disease
and dirty savages.

It was all a dream. She had
never done anything like this and
she wouldn't think of doing it
now. And had any of her friends
seen the poster? Of course, they
probably wouldn't tell her even if
they had.

But the poster was a violation
of privacy. Whoever had sent it
had taken advantage of informa-
tion that was none of their busi-
ness. It was up to her to notify
the authorities!

SHE took another look at the
ooster.

The letter she finally finished
writing was very short. She ad-
dressed it to the box number in
the upper left-hand corner of the

THE GIRLS FROM EARTH

— fc ***** *** ._*.** ***» ^%

plain wrapper that the poster
had come in.

npHE dress lay on the counter,
-* a small corner of it trailing
off the edge. It was a beautiful
thing, sheer sheen satin trimmed
in gold nylon thread. It was the
kind of gown that would make
anybody who wore it look beau-
tiful. The price was high, much
too high for her to pay. She knew
she would never be able to buy
it

But she didn't intend to buy it.

She looked casually around
and noted that nobody was
watching her. There was another
woman a few counters down and
a man, obviously embarrassed, at
the lingerie counter. Nobody else
was in sight. It was a perfect
time. The clerk had left to look
up a difficult item that she had
purposely asked for and probably
wouldn't be back for five minutes.

Time enough, at any rate.

The dress was lying loose, so
she didn't have to pry it off any
hangers. She took another quick
look around, then hurriedly bun-
dled it up and dropped it in her
shopping bag.

She had taken two self-assured
steps away from the counter
when she felt a hand on her
shoulder. The grip was firm and
muscular and she knew she had

, i

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

lost the game. She also knew that
she had to play it out to the end,
to grasp any straw.

"Let go of me!" she ordered in
1 a frostily offended voice.

"Sorry, miss,* 1 the man said
politely, "but I think we have a
short trip to take."

She thought for a moment of
brazening it out further and then
gave up. She'd get a few weeks or
months in the local detention
building, a probing into her back-
ground for the psychological rea-
sons that prompted her to steal,
and then she'd be out again.

They couldn't do anything to
her that mattered.

She shrugged and followed the
detective calmly. None of the
shoppers had looked up. None
seemed to notice anything out of
the ordinary.

In the detention building she
thanked her good luck that she
was facing a man for the sen-
tence, instead of one of the puri-
tanical old biddies who served
on the bench. She even found a
certain satisfaction in the pres-
ence of the cigar smoke and the
blunt, earthy language that
floated in from the corridor. %

"Why did you steal it?" the
judge asked. He held up the
dress, which, she noted furiously,
didn't look nearly as nice as it
had under the department store
lights.

"I don't have anything to say;*

she said. W I want to see a lawyer."

She could imagine what he was
thinking. Another tough one, an-
other plain jane who was shop-
lifting for a thrill.

And she probably was. You
had to do something nowadays.
You couldn't just sit home and
chew your fingernails, Or run out
and listen to the endless boring
lectures on art and culture.

"Name?" he asked in a tired
voice.

She knew the statistics he
wanted. "Ruby Johnson, 32, 145
pounds, brown hair and green
eyes. Prints on file/*

The judge leaned down and
mentioned something to the bail-
iff, who left and presently came
back with a ledger. The judge
opened it and ran his fingers
down one of the pages.

The sentence would probably
be the usual, she thought — six
months and a fine, or perhaps a
little more when they found out
she had a record for shoplifting.

A stranger in the courtroom in
the official linens of the govern-
ment suddenly stepped up beside
the judge and looked at the page.
She could hear a little of what he
said :

*\ . . anxietv neurosis . . . ob-
vtous feeling of not being wanted
. . , probably steals to attract at-
tention . . . recommend emigra-
tion. w

"In view of some complicating

THE GIRLS FROM EARTH

factors, we're going to give you a
choice," the judge finally said*
"You can either go to the peni-
tentiary for ten years and pay a
$10,000 fine, or you can ship out
to the colony planets and receive
a five-hundred-dollar immigra-
tion bonus."

She thought for a minute that
she hadn't heard right. Ten thou-
sand dollars and ten years! It
was obvious that the state was
interested in neither the fine nor
in paying her room and board for
ten years. She could recognize a
squeeze play when she saw it,
but there was nothing she could
do about it,

"I wouldn't call that a choice"
she said sourly. 4 T11 ship out/'

SUZANNE was proud of the
apartment. It had all the
modern conveniences, like the
needle shower with the perfume
dispenser, the built-in soft-drink
bar in the library, the all-commu-
nications set, and the electrical
inassager. It was a nice, com-
fortable setup, an illusion of se-
curity in an ever-changing world.

She lit a cigarette and chuckled.
Mrs. Burger, the fat old landlady,
thought she kept up the apart-
ment by working as a buyer for
one of the downtown stores.

Well, maybe some day she
would.

But not today. And not tonight.

The phone rang and she an-
swered in a casual tone. She
talked for a minute, then let a
trace of sultriness creep into her
voice. The conversation wasn't
long.

She let the receiver fall back
on the base and went into the
bedroom to get a hat box. She
wouldn't need much; she'd prob-
ably be back that same night.

It was a nice night and since
the address was only a few blocks
away, she decided to walk it. She
blithely ignored the curious stares
from other pedestrians, attracted
by the sharp, clicking sound of
her heels on the sidewalk.

The address was a brownstone
that looked more like an office
building than anything else, but
then you could never tell. She
pressed the buzzer and waited a
moment for the sound to echo
back and forth on the inside. She
pressed it again and a moment
later a suave young man ap-
peared in the doorway.

"Miss Carstens?"

She smiled pertly.

"We've been expecting you. ,f

She wondered a little at the
"we," but dutifully smiled and
followed him in.

The glare of the lights inside
the office blinded her for a mo*
ment. When she could focus them
again, her smile became slightly
blurry at the edges and then dis-

GALAXY SCIENCI FICTION

appeared entirely. She wasn't
alone. There was a battery of
chairs against one side of the
room. She recognized most of the
girls sitting in them.

She forced a smile to her lips
and tried to laugh.

"I'm sure there's been some
mistake! Why, I never . . ?

The young man coughed po-
litely. "I'm afraid there's been no
mistake. Full name, please/'

"Suzanne Carstens/' she said
grimly, and gave the other sta-
tistics he wanted. She idly won>
dered what stoolie had peddled
the phone numbers.

"Suzanne Carstens," the young
man noted, and slowly shook his
head. "A very pretty name, but
no doubt not your own. It actu-
ally doesn't matter, though. Take
a seat over there.'*

She did as he asked and he
faced the entire group,

"I and the other gentlemen
here represent the Colonization
Board. We've interceded with the
local authorities in order to offer
you a choice. We would like to
ship you out to the colony plan-
ets. Naturally, we will pay you
the standard emigration bonus of
five hundred dollars. The colo-
nists need wives; they offer you
*r-security."

He stressed the word slightly.
" "Now, of course, if you don't
prefer the colony planets, you
can stay behind and face the pen-

alties of ten years in jail and a
fine of ten thousand dollars."

Suzanne felt that her lower jaw
needed support. Ten thousand
dollars and ten years! And in
either case she'd lose the apart*
ment she had worked so hard for,
her symbol of security.

"Well, what do you say? M
There was a dead silence/ The
young man from the Colonization
Board turned to Suzanne. "How
about you, Miss Carstens?"

She smiled sickly and nodded
her head. "I love to travel!" she
said.

It didn't sound at alt witty
even to herself.

fT^HE transfer shed was a vast
*■ and somber terminal, cold
and impersonal. There was a
cleared space at the center of the
floor where the officials had desks
and tables and rows of filing cab-
inets and busily clicking ma-
chinery. The women sat huddled
around the edges of the shed,
waiting to be called to the center
and assigned to any of the vari-
ous colony planets,
* Phyllis clutched her small suit-
case, containing the few personal
items she had been allowed to
take on the trip, and silently
swore that once she set foot on
another planet, she'd never leave
it. no matter what.

THE GIRLS FROM EARTH

-Draft 49 for the Buffer Solar
System report to the routing
desk! Draft 49 for the Huffer
Solar System report to the rout-
ing desk!"

"That's us," Suzanne said
drily. She and Phyllis and Ruby
joined the others out on the floor.

"You understand/* the routing
official was saying, "that you're
allowed your choice of planets
in the Huffer Solar System. We'll
read off occupational and other
pertinent information and then
you make your choice.

"Sunside: First planet from the
system sun. Warm, humid cli-
mate. Fishing, flower-growing for
export, mining, and natural
handicrafts. Population ratio 7
to 1, males all somatypes and
admixtures.

"Midplanet: Second planet
out. Temperate climate. Farm-
ing, fur-trapping, slight manufac-
turing. Ratio 7 to 1, all soma-
types and admixtures."

"Newman's body, last planet
out from the system sun . , ."

He finished the list and gave
them five minutes to decide. The
names of the three planets ap-
peared on the floor in glowing
letters. When they had made up
their minds, they were to go and
stand on the name.

They held a short conference,

**It looks like it's a tossup be-
tween fish and furs," T?uby said.
#I I think HI take Midplanet I

like furs better than fish."

They argued a moment longer,
then picked up their belongings
and went and stood on the lumi-
nous letters.

VII

"VTO doubt of it, the carpet made
-*■ ^ a fairly suitable green, Escher
thought. He placed the ball firm-
ly on the nap, stepped back a
pace, and tapped it smartly with
the golf club. It rolled in a beau-
tifully straight path into the up-
turned water glass,

"Very nice shot, Claude."

Escher looked up and leaned
the club against the side of the
desk.

"I thought so, too," he agreed.
"What brings you here, Mac?"

MacDonald sat down and
poured himself a glass of water
from the beaker on Escher's desk.

"Just wanted to pass on the
compliments of the Board for the
recent large upswing in woman
emigrants to the colony planets."

Escher casually waved it aside.

"It wasn't much. We just had
to rid ourselves of some old-
fashioned notions, that's all. I
was afraid, though, that the
Board might disapprove of our

methods."

MacDonald thought for a mo-
ment.

"No, I guess they didn't. I
can't recall any members of the

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

Board complaining about it, at
least. Apparently they felt that
something drastic was needed. Or,
more probably, they've kept
themselves carefully ignorant of
just how we did it. Oh, they know
we violated privacy in a lot of
cases, but they're willing to over-
look it."

"Very white of them, I'm
sure," Escher grunted. He took
up the club and set the ball back
on its carpet tee. "How about a
game tomorrow afternoon?"

MacDonald shook his head. "It
didn't bother the Board much,
Claude, but I followed your ad-
vertising and I was down to the
port to see a contingent of our
new colonists take off. It bothers
me, Claude. The ads you sent to
the different planets, the whisper-
ing campaign we arranged for,
the subtle propaganda we sent
out — and then the women. Don't
you think there will be some sort
of howl? We've definitely led
them to believe one thing and
here we're sending them — well,
the new colonists leave a lot to
be desired."

Escher looked at him coldly.
"Look, Mac, let's be cynical
about this. That's why it was re-
ferred to us in the first place. Of
course the girls we sent aren't the
most beautiful or the most glam-
orous. Those girls are already
married and you couldn't get
them to leave, no matter what

you did. The girls we sent arc
the ones who weren't wanted here
on Earth. We even killed two
birds with one stone and solved
the crime problem."

He held up his hand when
MacDonald started to object,

"Don't say it, Mac. Stop and
think for a moment. What danger
can a shoplifter do on a colony
planet? There's nothing to steal.
And without large cities, most
other types of crime will have
equally tough sledding. Besides,
we eliminated those who had
natural criminal tendencies. Most
of the others had drifted into it
as an outlet for their sense of
insecurity, the feeling of not being
wanted/*

MacDonald looked woiried.

"All right, what happens when
the colonists find out, Claude?
What happens when they find
out we shipped them the eastoffs f
the leftovers?"

"The point is, Mac, they'll
never find out. They're Second
System colonists. You know how
the Colonization Board works.
Planet A colonizes planet B*
Planet B colonizes planet C.
Given a suitable number of gen-
erations, the people on planet C
will never have seen people from
planet A. Earth is planet A, the
colony planets to which the
women were sent are all phi.iet
Cs.

"You see, the catch is that the

THE GIRLS FROM EARTH

I ,

».

MUn».;iirfHl»

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

colonists will have no basis on
which to make comparisons*
They've never seen women from
Earth!"

"I still don't like it They- have
seen women from other planets.
After taking a look at the last
shipload of females that left
Earth, I'm still worried/*

Escher laughed, "That's be-
cause you haven* t seen some of
the colony women, Mac. Tell me,
what is the most cultured and
socially up-to-date planet? Earth*
of course. Now on what planet
has husband-hunting and pleas-
ing been developed into an all-
out struggle with fine scientific
techniques? Earth, again. The
colonists don't have a chance,

41 When it comes to catching
and pleasing the male, the girls
from Earth have really had an
education. They can take care
of themselves. Don't worry about
that. Who's to tell the colonists
the girls aren't the cream of the
crop, anyway? Not the girls
themselves, certainly. And not
us. I tell you they'll never find
out, Mac."

"You're positive that the col-
onists will be pleased with the
women ?"

Escher hesitated. "Well, rea-
sonably/' He sounded a little
wistful He practiced his swing a
few more times, barely, missing
the lamp on his desk.

1 thought the advertising was

rather clever, too. They'll feel a
great obligation to us for sending
them 'Earth's Fairest Daughters/
Be good for strengthening the ties
to the mother planet."

MacDonald looked somewhat
happier.

"What about the women them-
selves, though? We sold them a
bill of goods, too, you know.
They're expecting modern cities
and handsome, rugged heroes for
husbands. I know damn well that
a lot of the colonies aren't much
more than sinkholes and I sus-
pect the sanitary, rugged,
thoughtful male is strictly off the
artist's drawing board. What
happens when the women find
that out?"

Escher took the ball out of the
glass and went back a few paces
for another try.

"Don't forget, Mac, the girls
are the ones who weren't wanted
here, the ones who were heading
up for lives as old maids. They're
going to planets where they're
strictly a scarce item, where
they'll be appreciated. The col-
onists will think they're getting
something special and they'll
treat the girls that way. They'll
take good care of them. There
might be a few difficulties at first,
but it'll corne out all right/'

"In other words, the whole
thing hinges on how the colonists
receive the girls. Isn't that it?"

The ball thunked solidly into

THE GIRLS FROM EARTH

the glass again and rolled out.

"That's right. We've hedged
our bets the best we can. Now
we'll have to wait and see. But
I don't think we have anything
to worry about.**

"Uh-huh," MacDonald grum-
bled. "It works out nice in theory,
but I wonder how it'll be in prac-
ticed

VIII

pHYLLIS let the deceleration
-*■ press her into the cot and
tried to relax. In ten minutes they
would be disembarking in Land-
ing City. Landing City, with its
wide, paved streets and modern
buildings, the neatly laid-out
farms and the modern rocket
port.

There was a clanging of bells,
a sudden feeling of nausea, and
she knew they had landed. In
the excited buzz of conversation
from the others, she got her small
suitcase and filed toward the
hatch.

They took her name and gave
her the emigration bonus, and
then she was on the ramp going
down, smelling the cool fresh air
and feeling a damp breeze against

her face.

She looked down , . «

The modern rocket port was a
scorched expanse of dirty ground,
with a rusting shed at one end
that she guessed was the office.

Landing City was a collection of
rundown shacks ahd corrugated
huts with mud streets and wood-
en sidewalks running between
them.

She should have guessed, she
thought bitterly. She had been
sold a bill of goods. And there
was no going back now; she was
Stuck with it-
Stuck with it.

She took another look. At least
it would be healthy, and there
was something besides the con-
crete and granite of a city to look
at. It wouldn't be day in and day
out of sitting eight hours behind
a typewriter, and then back to
her lonesome two rooms for an
evening of bridge or a night with
a boring book.

And there was nothing wrong
with the town that couldn't be
remedied and improved with a
little work. She and the others
would see to that. Progress was
going to hit Landing City
whether the colonists like it or

not. i

The colonists . . .

She stared at the whiskery,
ragged lot of men of all shapes
and sizes that were waiting to
welcome them.

They had probably, she
thought queerly, never heard a
lecture on art in their lives. And
they wouldn't have any interest
in historical novels and it was an
even -money bet that bridge and

■

too

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

canasta games would bore them.

They were uncultured, she
thought happily, thoroughly un-
cultured! Their main interest was
probably in having a home and
raising a family and working . . ♦

And with a shave and clean
clothes, they might even be hand-
some! A dimly remembered
poster of a blond -haired giant
flashed into her mind, but she
dismissed it. The men below had
a hard, healthy look abbut them,
a certain virility, an individuality
that the pale men back on Earth,
now that she thought of it,
seemed to lack.

She was very definitely going
to like it here.

Then she had a sudden, nag-
ging thought. t.

How would the colonists take
to her and the other bedraggled
females?

HPHE twinkling fire came near-
-■- er and they could make out
the outlines of the slim ship. It
rapidly grew in size and finally
settled to a heavy, groaning rest
on the pitted and blackened
landing field.

Karl was holding his breath,
staring at the outline of the hatch
on the ship's rusty side. It opened
and ttie flight of descent stairs
slid out. The captain and crew
came out first.

Then the women filed down the
ladder, smiling timidly and look-
ing cold and frightened.

Karl could hear Hill gulping

noisily beside him and knew that

his own mouth was gaping. But

he couldn't help it.

The girls were gorgeous.

—FRANK M. ROBINSON

■^

* •

The Current GALAXY Science Fiction Novel

ODD JOHN, By Of af Stapled on

"Odd John" was the nickname given this strange youth . ./. and odd
he certainly was. With his incredibly gifted skills and his awesomely
developed mind, he could have attained power, fame, money — an entire
nation or even the world I

But it would have been like a genius ruling an asylum of imbeciles.
For Odd John was not of the human race; he belonged to the next
stage of evolution — Homo Superior!

Many authors have tried to write the story of Homo Superior and
failed — just as Pithecanthropus, describing Modern Man, would find it
an impossible job. But Stapledon succeeded! This is THE masterpiece
of superman stories, a great science fiction novel!

At your newsstand at 35c a copy. If you can't get it there, send the
35c (no postage or handling charge) or $2.00 for a full year (six titles,
all different) to , . .

GALAXY PUBLISHING CORP. • 421 Hudson St. • New York 14

THE GIRLS FROM EARTH

101

mmm

mrm

Going . . . Going . . .

demand for back numbers of GALAXY Serened Fiction
has been so great that October and November 1950 are
completely out of stock; and December 1950 and January
1951 are very low. From February 1951 to the present issue,
we have a fair supply • • . and we'll continue to sell at the
regular newsstand price of 35c a copy (no postage or han-
dling charge) until they are gone.

Repeat; Vol. 1 # No. 1 and 2, October and November

1950, are completely out of stock. Please don't ask for it; we
have no copies.

We are calling in larger quantities than usual of August

1951, which, for reasons over which we had no control, was
withdrawn from sale prematurely. This is the issue with
BEYOND BEDLAM by Wyman Guin, the brilliant and enor-
mously moving novella that has caused more dazzled com-
ment than any single story in years. You'll want it . . . and
there's a copy for you, if you don't put off too long.

All our GALAXY Science Fiction Novels are available:

SINISTER BARRIER by Erk Frank Ru**e4t . . . a powerful story of ait
incredible invasion of Earth.

THE LEGION OF SPACE by Sack Williamton ... a science fiction classic
packed with action and suspense.

PRELUDE TO SPACE by Arthur C. Clarke . . * a solid account, minus
melodrama, of the conquest of interplanetary flight,

THE AMPHIBIANS by S, Fowler Wright . . . a genuinely fascinating
exploration of Earth's unthinltably distant future.

THE WORLD BELOW by S. Fowler Wright . . . sequel to THE AMPHIBIANS
and no less hypnotic in effect,

THE ALIEN by Raymond F. Jones » . . the astonishing, frightening result
of reviving an extraterrestrial genius 500,000 years old.

EMPIRE by Clifford D. Simak . . . the power-charged story of interplan-
etary competition, action, intrigue!

Send only 35c for each copy to . . .

GALAXY PUBLISHING CORP.

421 Hudson Street Dept. Rl New York 14, N. Y.

102

The

Furious
Rose

By DEAN EVANS

This world was a setup
for any man who wonted
to get along — provided
one had enough victims

to toss to the wolves!

THE Master Clock on the
black desk in the office of
Federal Executions made a
quiet blipping sound. Immed' te-
ly the lights lowered to E te
Neutral. Long, probing sir w
fingers snaked here and t tt
across the floor, and a silence £ t
should have been restful — and
wasn't — descended on the place.

Illustrated by THORNE

T N i FURIOUS ROSE

10S

Tony Radek leaned back in his
chair and frowned. One-fifteen in
the morning. At one -fifteen in the
morning no man, no matter who,
should be going to his Neg-
Emote, Why not hang a man in-
stead? Or electrocute him? Or
gas him the way they used to
back in the old days? In those
old days his grandfather used to
talk about, where twelve ordinary
citizens said the word that peeled
the life off a man like skinning
an onion,

He sighed softly and folded his
hands across a tiny paunch that
was just beginning to show, Tony
Radek was getting old. He was a
"safe" now. That meant he
needn't worry about the war any
longer. He was a nice, mild,
peaceable gentleman who stayed
at home and thought beautiful
thoughts about the younger men
put in space. A man his age didn't
feel anger and hate and retribu-
tion and lust and treachery any
more. He was just a little old fat
guy. He was the Federal Execu-
tioner.

He frowned again and leaned
forward and touched a nacre but-
ton on the desk top. That lit up
the screen on his left. Not the
Master Screen, which was the one
Oji his right. This was the other,

the one that could tell him what
was going on outside the office,
outside in Portal Waiting, where
certain peculiar ghouls who de-

104

rived a measure of excitement
from the executions were allowed
by the gracious State to hang out.
He stared at the screen. His
frown deepened. Portal Waiting
should be bare and vacant at this
hour, but it wasn't. This was the
third night in a row that it wasn't.
There was a girl out there. A
quiet girl, a girl who looked about

as ghoulish as one of the nice red
ritual roses over in the cooler
built into the wall.

Damn the dame, why didn't
she go home? Tony Radek's upper
lip lifted a little, showing small
angry teeth.

At once the Emote Neutral
lights in the office flickered wildly.
Tony pulled his eyes from the
screen and glared up at the lights.
That's progress for you. Let a
man go on one little momentary
emotional binge, like this, and
right away spies in the joint start
screaming. In a moment now, the
one on his right — the Master
Screen — would blink itito life and
old hell-hips himself would start
poking around asking questions.
Just see if it didn't.

He turned his head to the right,
stared at the Master Screen and
waited.

The screen blazed into life. A
narrow-faced man with washed-
away eyes that looked as though
they'd seen sin and hadn't liked
it peered angrily over toward
Tony behind the desk.

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

"Mr. Radek!" he had a thin,
thin voice that sounded like a
sheet of paper slitting down the
middle. "What's going on down
there? Can't you control your own
office? Or maybe you'd like to be
back in Training?" The eyes
squinted sharply.

Tony worked up an innocent
look. He spread his hands on the
black surface of the desk, smiled,
and said mildly: "Out of your
mind. My lights have been as
steady as old Emote Neutral her-
self. Probably that blonde you
got Central Direction kidded into
thinking you need as an assistant
— probably you sneaked up on
her when she was in Personal Lok

and » • .

"What?" The Master Screen
trembled a little and the narrow-
faced man's eyes seemed to jerk
out of registration for a moment.
"Look here, Radek, I've stood
just about enough of your insinu-
ations!"

"Look who's making the lights
flicker now," said Tony calmly.
He waved an arm around the
office. Emote Neutral was flicker-
ing rapidly as though controlled
by an interrupter switch, "Central
Direction should see this/' he ob-
served.

He stared briefly at the con-
torted face on the screen. That
face was working convulsively
now, getting red like the ritual
roses over in the cooler.

He snorted disgustedly, reached
forward and touched the mat*
switch which threw the Master
Screen into visi-lok. At once the
screen darkened and all sound
left the office.

That was more like it. Let old
hell -hips up in Supplies and Con-
trol stew if he wanted, there
wasn't anything in the Const itu«
tion — not even the old Constitu**
tion — that said a man had to sit
and look at him.

"Central Direction to Radek!*
a hard voice rapped out of the
alternate speaker over in the cor-
ner.

Tony Radek jerked, spun
around. He swallowed quickly
said nervously: "Yes, sir?"

"Radek, you're violating Ordi-
nance Six, Code 325, Division of
Security! Unlock that visi -screen
at once!"

"Yes, sir." Tony's hand flew to
the matswitch, pulled it. "Sorry.
Elbow must have hit it accident
tally. Didn't know it was
locked . . ."

"Radek, there's a war on. That
visi-lok must be used only in
emergency. You know that. 1

"Yes, sir. Like I said .

"I heard. In the future, be a
little more careful. And, Radek—

"Yes, sir?"

"Ready Cell Two. Execution at
one-twenty-seven. John Edward
Haley. Convicted of mass inter-
ference of morale, City of Greater

THE FU RIOUS ROSE

105

Jew Denver, as outlined under
Congressional Act of April 12,
2250, Decision rendered equally
on all three Final Master Ma-
chines."

"No appeal?" asked Tony very
softly.

"No appeal. And, Radek— "

"Yes, sir?"

"The condemned is married.
Check with Supplies and Control
for bill of divorcement- His wife
is a young woman, will have to
marry again in the morning as
outlined under Congressional Act
f May 28, 221 1. Got that?".

"Yes, sir."

The Master Screen went dead,
ony blinked. Bill of divorce-
ment Will have to marry again
in the morning as outlined under
Congressional Act. By God, that's
progress for you! He sat staring
at the Master Screen for a long
time.

Then he sighed, punched the
button on Supplies and Control*

"Hell-hips!" he growled. "Snap
it up. Execution at one-twenty-
seven. Bill of divorcement."

The narrow face peered sourly

out at him from the Master

Screen, It didn't have much emo-

ion in it now. It was almost

>lank, like the face of a humanoid

obot somebody'd left something

out of.

"Been hittin* the bottle again,
huh?" said Tony.

"My name is Clackef, Mr. Ra-

dek. Arthur Jared Clacker. Kind-
ly keep that in mind when you
address me."

"Sure, sure. Nice name. Lovely
name. Sounds like a stone-boat
going over ground glass. Whip up
that bill of divorcement,"

"It's ready, Mr. Radek. Been
ready for the last half hour. I
suggest that if there were a little
of my own well known and dem-
onstrated efficiency in your office,
perhaps Executions would be
something to be proud of. Instead
of what it is. Instead of the foul-
smelling, sloppily run, lice -in-
fested ..."

Tony's hand reached/ out for
the button on Supplies and Con-
trol. "Watch those lights," he said
tiredly.

TTE got up from the desk,
-*--*■ stretched a little and went
across the office to the cooler in
the opposite wall. His feet made
no noise; he had that quiet tread
that all cats, a few men and some
women achieve. His hand inter-
rupted the automatic cellgard and
a tiny, almost hidden door in the
wall swung wide. He reached up,
poked his hand in the cooler, felt
around. A little smile came into
his eyes. He took his hand out of
the cooler, got up on tiptoes and
looked inside. No roses. Not even
one rose.

Not even halt of a rose.

Chuckling, he went back to the

106

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

it>

desk and jabbed a finger at the
button over Suplies and Control.

"Hell-hips !" he rapped,
"Where's all that well known and
demonstrated efficiency I've had
to rake out of my ears?"

The narrow face lit up the Mas-
ter Screen once more. It looked
bored now. "Mr. Radek, there
was something?"

"Yeah. Something." Tony's
voice dropped, got deadly soft.
"How many weeks since you
checked the cooler, boy? There
aren't any ritual roses. 1 '

There — there aren't any?"
That's right, Mr. Clacker.
Now get away from that screen,
I'm reporting this to Central Di-
rection/* His finger jammed down
on the Supplies and Control but-
ton. He watched the Master
Screen go blank and grinned. He
thought, "Shake a little, Mr.
Clacker, shake a little/ 1 because
he didn't dare even whisper to
himself.

He sat down at the desk again
and thought of something. His
finger went out, touched the but-
ton on the screen on the left — the
Portal Waiting screen.

She was still there, hunched up
in one of the chairs like a small
child somebody had left in an
interplanct waiting room and then
gone away and forgotten. Tony
frowned once more. Damn that
dame, she was spoiling his nights.

He got up, crossed the office on

silent feet, opened the door of
Executions, went down a bare, si*
lent hall. At the levelators he
waited a moment for the plat-
form, took it down, got off again
at Portal Waiting, and crossed to
the foyer.

She was there, just as she'd
been on the screen upstairs, only
clearer, more vivid, something
witnessed instead of second hand,
something with dimension to it.
She was in a big chair that could
have accommodated two like her.
She had her legs tucked under her
and her brown eyes that looked
up at Tony's approach weren't
any larger than two full moons.

He said, "Are you Mrs. John
Haley?"

The girl nodded. "They —
they've got Johnny . . ."

"I know." Tony dropped into
a chair opposite the girl. "It's
late," he said softly. "You
shouldn't be here this time of
night, Mrs. Haley."

The girl thought about that.
"You're Mr. Radek, aren't you?
In the Execution Office?"

"Call me Tony, Mrs. Haley."

"All right, Tony. Yes, it's late.
I hadn't noticed, but I suppose
you're right."

"You should go home, Mrs.
Haley." He stopped, then lied a
little. "They'll let you know. You
don't have to worry."

You don't have to worry.
They're bringing the guy up now^

THE FURIOUS lOSE

107

little girl, but you don't have to
worry. Old he 11 -hips is getting a
ritual rose now, little girl, but you
don't have to worry.

As if he'd deliberately tele-
pathed the thought, the girl said
suddenly: "Tony, is — is it true
about the furious roses? I mean,
if a man is found guilty, do
they—?"

"The 'furious' roses, Mrs.
Haley?" He smiled. "I see. You
mean because they're so red. Yes,
it's true. Ritual roses, we call
them, but that's nothing. Nothing
at all. A custom only. A symbol
handed down. It means nothing*"

"I !'.row." The girl nodded
wgrrS.n. * 4 V7hen we were children,
we always called them the furious
roses because they were a furious
red. We always used to say that
if an innocent man was executed,
the furious red rose would right
away turn white, Tony, To show
they'd been wrong about him."

He shrugged, "Bedtime stories,
Mrs. Haley."

4 "Not — not that it means any-
thing to me, Tony. They'll find
Johnny innocent, of course. All
three machines. The final ma-
chines."

Innocent? Oh, are.
A m ;:n," said Tony with a
\ . :,ue motion of his hands.
the d!T. nee wliat man

i ■

» - u

n woman has? In the morning
there's always another — and an-
other name. What's the differ-

ence?" Ht smiled a small toy
smile with eyes half closed so the
girl couldn't look too closely into
them.

But it was all right, she hadn't
heard* At least she wasn't balling
those big eyes of hers at him. She
was looking down into her folded
hands.

He continued, "There's a war
on, Mrs. Haley. It seems there's
always a war on, somehow. And
everybody — you, me, the guy
down the street who skins ships
for a living — we all have to re-
member that. And yet some of us
don't. Some of us go off on a
tangent and try to sell out our
country and then there's hell to
pay. And if we're found guilty, wc
get the execution. The Neg-
Emote."

The girls lips began to tremble.
She looked up. "Does it hurt,
Tony? I mean ..."

''Physically? No, of course not
A corner of his mouth curled.
"We're humane nowadays, hadn't
you heard? We just strap a man
in a chair and press a button and
down comes a metal hood over
him. We press some more buttons
and pull a switch or two, and
that's that. No feeling, nothing.
The man's as good as new except
he has no emotions any more. No
emotions whatever except per-
sonal physical pain, such as he'd
need in case somebody stepped on
his toe or jabbed him with a pin.

101

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTIO

The State wants us to protect our-
selves, you see. It wouldn't want
us getting hurt because we don't
feel anything."

He stopped because it was get-
ting harder to continued. "We
used to call it 'stripping/ but that
was long ago before the humane
boys decided the term was a little
cruel. Now it's just Neg-Emoting.
But the same thing. Just a fancy

title/'

Her big eyes were suddenly eat-
ing into his. "What do they do
with them, Tony?"

He shrugged again. "Send 'em
off to Training. Some can be
taught this, some that, but a liv-
ing death nevertheless. What else
can a traitor expect?"

The girl began to tremble all
over. "Not Johnny! They can't
do that to Johnny! He's innocent,
Tony — he didn't do anything!
Tony, tell them that! Tell them to
let him go . . ."

He put his teeth together hard.
What do you say to a woman
who sits across from you, waiting
the long, long wait? What do you
say to a woman like this when
you see the terror — and something
else — in eyes like hers?

"You like the guy, Mrs.
Haley?" he asked gently. "That's
old-fashioned as hell, you know.
We all learn that way back in
primaries."

But the woman wasn't listen-
ing again, wasn't caring what he'd

said. She began to whisper very

softly:

"In the nights I used to be
frightened. I used to lie there
asleep and dream of the ships
coming down and spraying the
house with the burn-waves. And I
could hear the roaring thunder of
the jets and the house would start
to shake and I'd try to yell, but
I couldn't Something inside
would be choking me. And just
when the burn-waves would be
coming hot through the window
and licking at the walls inside the
room, I'd scream myself awake
and jump up in bed and the sweat
would be pouring off me."

Tony stared, incredulous, into
the big balls of fright that her
eyes had become.

"And then the lights would
come on again, and there would
be Johnny lying next to me smil-
ing a little, and his curly hair
would be all tousled from sleep,
and he'd say to me, "Baby, you've
been dreaming again. Don't you
know I'm here? Don't you know
I'll always be here? Don't you
know that, Baby?' And then it
would be all right, and the roar-
ing jets would be only the dawn
shift going out on Security Patrol.
And then I could go back to sleep
again."

She stopped. Portal Waiting
had become a gray ghost of a
thing with nothing living in it,
only the clouds of memory like

THE FURIOUS ROSE

lOt

smoke veils swirling, drifting here
and there, soon gone.

And then: "They ? ll let him go,
Tony, He's innocent, you know*
They have to let him go,"

He didn't look at her. He got
up from his chair, put his hands
rigidly at his sides. Then he did
look, just once, and very hard,

"Get out of here!" he growled.

"No, Tony."

He took a deep breath, turned,
went across the foyer to the lev-
dators. As he passed under the
huge Master Screen, her voice
came again, but quite thin:

"You'll let me know, Tony?
You'll let me know as soon as you
get word?"

He didn't answer, didn't look
back, didn't do anything except
keep going to the levelators. He
went upstairs, found the door of
Executions, opened it, went
through, let it slam shut.

THINGS started to happen.
The Master Clock over on
the black desk made a quiet blip-
ping sound and the Emote Neu-
tral lights went out. At once the
office was flooded with Amber
Official, the working lights. Then
the Master Screen glowed and a
narrow-faced man with washed-
away eyes looked out at him,

"Condemned is waiting, Mr.
Radek," the narrow- faced man
said acidly. "Cell Two is getting
dusty waiting for you, Mr*

Radek. Very dusty.

Tony looked up. His heart
wasn't in it, but he said it any-
how: "Go chase your blonde some
more, hell-hips."

He went over to the desk v
banged the Supplies and Control
button, held it down. Master
Screen darkened. He looked at
the small square of white paper
on the black desk top.

A bill of divorcement. Like
that. So in the morning the kid
downstairs could go out and get
herself another mate and then she
could go back to bed again and
dream some more about the roar-
ing jets and the burn-waves.

He reached up and wiped at his
forehead. She didn't have to see
it happen. Nothing in the Consti-
tution — old or new — stated she
had to see it happen. He looked
down at the mats witch that con-
trolled the visi-lok on the Master
Screen. He clamped his teeth to-
gether and his hand went out
and flipped the switch. The office
went dead.

Maybe nobody'd notice. Maybe
he'd have time to slip into Cell
Two and get it over with before
anybody noticed. He started
across the room on fast, silent
feet.

"Radekf" the alternate speaker
over in the corner blasted out. He
froze solid. "Radek, don't movel
Stand where you are!*'

Don't move? He couldn't have

110

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

moved if he'd had jets on. And
then the hard voice went on
again: "Central Command to
Supplies and Control. Use Emer-
gency visi-relay. Unlock the Mas-
ter Screen! This is Command 419,
Regulation Four. Signed, Coun-
tersigned/'

Almost at once the Master
Screen flickered into life and a
hard, severe -looking face ap-
peared there. "Radek, turn
around! Face the screen!"

"Yes, sir;" Tony turned.

"Second violation, Radek.
Why?"

Tony forced a blank face. He
lifted his shoulders, said: "I was
over here on my way to Cell Two
for the Execution. How could
I—'

"That will be all, Radek! Clear
your desk. Prepare for judgment
on final machines."

Tony swallowed. He didn't
move because he couldn't move.

"Well, Radek?"

He fought his face clean, kept
his hands rigid at his sides. Sweat
was rolling down his back, but
that was all right; Central Com-
mand couldn't be expected to see
sweat roll down a man's back
under his clothing, though a lot
of people thought so.

"A suggestion, sir/* he said at
last.

"What?" Hard eyes bored into
his own.

He let a little anxious look
TMI FURIOUS ROSE

creep over his face. Not a guilty
look — he hoped — but the kind of
anxious look a worried but inno-
cent man might have in a spot
like this.

He said quickly: "About that
visi-lok. I suggest it might have
gone into lock by itself. You see,
it's one of the old-fashioned kind,
the type they used to have that
worked with solenoids. We've had
trouble with them before."

That brought a little silence.
The hard eyes in the screen said
at last: "Central Command to
Supplies and Control, Is the visi-
lok in Executions controlled by a
solenoid? Was it never changed to
relay?"

Tony gulped. He looked into
the Master Screen, but he re-
mained frozen to the floor, hardly
breathing. And then a very thin
voice answered nervously:

"I — I believe that's correct, sir.
I believe Executions does have
the old-fashioned solenoid. It
seems there hasn't been time to
change it. I've been intending

to . . r

•

The voice was cut off. The hard
eyes came back to Tony. "Deci-
sion!" the hard voice said.

"Yes, sir?"

"Exonerated. Radek! Carry on
with Execution in Cell Two." The
screen went blank.

Tony shuddered. A close one*
A damned close one. That was the
war for you. Even a man's breaths

»rc counted. He went on shaky
feet over to the cooler, reached in,
got out a ritual rose, left the office
and shuffled down the hall to
Cell Two.

John Edward Haley. The con-
demned. A thin man, Tony
thought. Well, sure, there aren't
many fat men any more. Not in
ordinary circumstances, that is.

The man was sitting tensely in
the chair. There was no one else
in the cell, which was as it should
be, of course. Witnesses, yes — the
Master Screen up on the wall —
but not here, not visible.

Tony went across the Cell.
*John Edward Haley," he said.

The man moved a nervous
tongue over dry lips.

"John Edward Haley, you have
been sentenced for Execution.
Now hear these final words of the
State as directed by Presidential
order from Responsibility Official
in the City of Greater New Den-
ver, this night."

He took two small steps toward
the man in the chair. He held out
the red rose, put it in the hand
of the other. Then he stepped
back two steps until his toes were
just touching a small plaque built
into the floor. He looked down,
read from the plaque:

'The giving of this rose. A sym-
bol for the red of the blood of
your brothers that you have let
by treason and/or treachery. A
symbol that as the rose is red, so

are the unclean acts of your own
hand, of your own mind. The
State has so spoken."

He looked up. A nice way to
kiss a guy off. Might as well tell
him he bit his brother's finger*
too, when he was a kid.

"Have you anything to say?"
he asked.

The man's nervous tongue
worked again. He said quickly:

"Yeah. Look, guy, just one
thing. Just one favor. I don't give
a damn what happens to me.
Sure, I'm guilty. So you caught
me, and so I take it. So what? A
guy expects that. But the wife . f *
Tony's teeth came together
hard.

** . , . But the wife, see? She's
down in Portal Waiting. Been
there for three nights now. I don't
want her to witness this, I don't
want her to look into that .Master
Screen down there and see it
That's all I'm asking, guy, and it
ain't much. Just a flick of a switch
is all I'm asking. It ain't much.
It ain't, is it?"

It ain't, hey? By God!
44 When the hood comes down,
she'll see it Site's bound to," the
thin man went on fast. "She'll see
the flash in the Screen and she'll
know it's me, and she's never done
anything to deserve that. That's
all I'm asking, guy. That's all
I'm asking,"

The silence in the cell was a
thick thing. Tony could feel the

112

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

sweat rolling down his back again*
But a different kind of a sweat
now — not a sweat for himself, a
sweat for somebody else. Just one
finger touch on that visi-lok mat-
switch would do it. Just one
finger, and the small woman
downstairs in Portal Waiting
wouldn't know, would have one
more instant of waiting, of hoping
against hope. Of suspense. Of
breathing in the air we all breathe
in, of being alive, sentient; and
knowing that her man, the thin
fellow with the tousled, curly hair,
was still sentient, too.

"Well, guy?"

Tony wet his lips. "Sorry,
Haley. Petition refused." The
hood came down. The Master
Screen up on the wall blazed into
life.

npONY sat at his black desk
-*- with his hands folded, fingers
laced. That's Executions for you.
And this is war. There's a war on.
Don't forget that. He looked down
at his hands, sighed. Then he
reached out and touched the Sup-
plies and Control button.

"Hell-hips!" he growled.

He looked at the screen. It
wasn't hell-hips. It was a blonde.
Not a young blonde, a scarecrow
blonde. An old wretched piece of
living mechanism like himself,

"Where's Clacker?" he asked.

"Mr. Clacker is no longer with
us, Mr. Radek."

"Huh? What happened to

him?"

"Mr. Clacker lias been taken
to the three Final Machines for
trial and judgment. I am now
taking over here. My name is
Hortense. G. Welker Hortense."

Tony looked at the blonde.
Crude, undisguised lights were
coming from the woman's eyes.
Promotion-happy.

He said at last: "Sorry as hell
about that. The solenoid thing, I
suppose. I didn't mean to get the
guy in trouble. I sure didn't mean
that."

"He'd been ordered to change
it. It was no one's fault but his
own. You were only doing your
duty, I'm sure. And duty comes
above everything."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. I know." He
sighed once more. "Get me an air-
brush and a bottle of white
paint."

"What?"

"I want an airbrush and a bot-
tle of white paint. I want to paint
my nice little ritual roses. I don't
like red any more. I want all
white ones."

"Mr. Radek. . . ?"
. Tony glared. "Do I get that
paint or don't I? Don't just stand
there!" His fist banged down on
Supplies and Control button. The
Master Screen went blank, and
then flashed into motion again
fast The blonde again. Nasty
now. A chip off the old block.

THE FURIOUS tOSl

Another hell-hips, but this time
with skirts,

"Request not granted! This is
entirely against regulations, Mr.
Radek! Specifically , against or-
dinance 1991, of the Code of, . • "

"Oh, can it/' he growled wear-
ily. "For God's sake, don't give
me any more of that."

The blonde stiffened. "Well!
After all, I'm only doing my duty,
Mr. Radek. As head of Supplies
and Control, I have certain well-
defined and inflexible • . ."

Tony blacked her out- He held
her blacked out till he was sure
she wouldn't come on again.
Duty.

The Master Clock made a quiet
blipping noise. Amber Official
lights dimmed and Emote Neutral
came on. Long, probing shadow
fingers snaked here and there
across the floor, and a stillness
that should have been restful de-

scended eventually on -the place.
"Radekr

The hard eyes. The hard voice.
Tony looked into the screen. "Yes #
sir?"

"Radek, that woman is still
downstairs in Portal Waiting* We
can't have her hanging around all
night. Why hasn't she been given
her bill of divorcement and sent
home? My God, man, where'a
your feelings? She's at least en-
titled to that. 11

"Right away, sir, I was just
going/'

He picked up the square of
white paper. He pushed back his
chair, got to his feet, went across
the office taking those peculiar,
quiet little steps of his.

Yes, sir. Just going, sir. On my

way, sir. Because, sir, as you've

pointed out so clearly, sir, she's

at least entitled to that.

—DEAN EVANS

NEXT MONTH

* Installment 2 of ]HE DEMOLISHED MAN by Alfred Belter, aglitter with brilliantly
fresk ideas, situations, backgrounds and conflicts, pits its shrewd end resourceful
criminal against — a defective from whom nothing can be hidden.'

i( Science fiction much too seldom it emotionally moving, but CONDITIONALLY
HUMAN by Walter M. Milter, Jr., presents a genuinely moving problem . . • yet
without giving up on ingenious scientific premise and suspenseful aclion.
Tfr WHERE WERE WE? asks L. Sprague de Camp, in a scintillating article that exca-
vates the predictions of science fiction from the past century to the present, How good
were these predictions? The answer is surprising!

^ WHERE TO? queries Robert A. Heinlein, in a remorselessly logical article that
•hows how a modern writer, equipped with the tools of scientific extrapolation, con
forecast tiie world of 2,000 A.D,

* PLUS SHORT STORIES it FEATURES

114

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

WORLD OF WONDER, edited
by Fletcher Pratt. Twayne Pub-
Ushers, New York, 1951. 445
pages, $3.95

f\F the 19 tales Fletcher Pratt
^-^ has selected for his first an-
thology of fantasy and science
fiction, all but four rate B plus or
better — an excellent score. The
reason is not hard to find, either,
since, according to the records
of that nonpareil Index Master,
Anthony Boucher, 9 out of the 19
have previously been antholo-
gized*

The answer is simple: Mr.
Pratt and his publishers are not
specifically interested in the fan
market.

It seems they are aiming at the
collateral reading market in high
school and college literary and
composition courses. They should
do well in this market, for the
book is an exciting job for those
who have not read the stories
elsewhere.

On the other hand, it contains
several never - before - reprinted
masterpieces, too. Among them
are Isaac Asimov*s "The Red
Queen's Race,** Fredric Brown's
"Etaoin Shrdlu," A, Bertram
Chandler's "Giant Killer," Rob-
ert Heinlein's "They,* Philip
MacDonald's "Private — Keep
Out," Judith Merril's "That Only
a Mother," and two by H. Beam
Piper, "He Walked Around the

• * * * * SHELF

IIS

Horses" and "Operation RSVP.
A distinguished list, though unb

short

Previously anthologized items:
O. Henry's "Roads of Destiny"
William Tenn's . "Child's Play,
Franz Kafka's "Metamorphosis,
two of Kipling: "The Finest
Story in the World" and "The
Mark of the Beast," Sprague
rie Camp's "The Blue Giraffe,"
and Ray Bradbury's "The Mil-
lion-Year Picnic"

The other tales, which you may
like better than l, are: James
Blish's "Mistake Inside,'' - Gouv-
erneur Morris's "Back There in
the Grass/* Esther Carlson's
"Museum Piece," and Nelson
Bond's "Conqueror's Isle/' The
Morris and the Bond have been
previously anthologized, too.

Fletcher Pratt's introduction
presents ideas about science fic-
tion and fantasy in a way that
makes most of us other antholo-
gists sound like circus barkers*
Best of all is his open recognition
Of the fact that top science fiction
and fantasy are essentially intel-
lectual — a medium for the ex-
pression of ideas which otherwise
would be difficult, dreary, dull—
or even somehow dangerous,

THE HOUSE OF MANY
WORLDS, by Sam Merwin, Jr.
Douhleday & Co., New York,
1951. 216 pages, $2.75

SAM Merwin, until recently
editor of Thrilling Wonder
Stories and Startling Stories, has
turned out a rather disappointing
first science fiction novel. The idea
is fine, though unoriginal, but one
feels that the author was in too
much of a hurry to turn it into
a polished story.

The House tells ingeniously of
parallel worlds which touch at
"tangential points" through which
a group of people called "The
Watchers" (vide John D. Mac-
Donald's "Wine of the Dreamers."
reviewed last month) supervise
their various development lines.

The drama here revolves
around a couple — male photogra-
pher, female poet-reporter (and
a pretty silly character, too) — -
who are unwillingly drafted to
become Watchers, and who
"watch" on an odd alternate
American Continent that has
kerosene but no gasoline, rockets
but no internal-combustion mo-
tors, invincible heat-ray guns but
no airplanes, a depressed and
under-developed North and an
oligarchically imperial South.

The job of the Watchers is to
prevent this southern government,
with its capital in New Orleans,
from disposing of a people's hero
who is trying to bring science and
technology to fruition. They suc-
ceed, of course. And at the very
end there is a snapper in the tail
that comes as all the greater a

11*

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

surprise for the excellently under-
stated way in which it is put
over.

If you can overlook the hasty
writing and unfortunate charac-
terizations, you'll find this an in-
triguing story.

THE SEA AROUND US, by
Rachel L. Carson. Oxford Uni-
versity Press, New York, 1951.
250 pages, $3.50

'PHE best science fiction is
■*- sometimes defined as being
nothing more than an extropola-
tion of the known. In many — and
in some of its best — parts, The
Sea can according to this defini-
tion be called science fiction on
the highest plane. It applies logi-
cal and scientific imagination to
what we know or infer about the
ocean depths and comes up with
— sheer poetry.

What a book! Though plotless,
it is rich with characters — dol-
phons, foraminifera, cephalopods,
and those strange mammals, the
whales, who never suffer caisson
disease no matter how violent
the change in the pressures
against their bodies.

Probably you could call it ad-
ventureless, if you wished, yet it
is crammed with two types of
adventure — that of the struggles
of the waters of the sea and of
the creatures within them for
continuity, place, primacy; and

that more immediately fascinat-
ing sort undertaken by ocean*
ographers and other marine sci-
entists in search of difficult
knowledge and sea -buried secrets.
It is truly an exciting book.

EVERY BOY'S BOOK OF SCI-
ENCE FICTION, edited by
Donald A. Wollheim* Frederick
Fell, Inc., New York, 1951. 254
pages, $2.75

IT is difficult to understand why
* a book such as this is directed
to boys, I know of no youngsters
who would enjoy any of the tea
(count 'em, TEN) stories in the
volume, except Ray Bradbury's
wonderful "King of the Gray
Spaces," which is the only tale
published since 1935 in the book.

The other nine are hoary chest-
nuts which men of around 45 to
55 will like — some of them — since
it will give them a warm feeling
of nostalgia for their youth, when
they used to read stories like
these and think them hot stuff.

The roster of authors alone
give us of the older generation
a clue to the quality of the stor-
ies: Ray Cummings, Bob Olsen,
Daniel Dresser, Sewell Peaslec
Wright, Edmond Hamilton, Clif-i
ford Simak, Jack Williamson,
Clifton Kruse, and David H. Kel-
ler. None of the stories these
comparative ancients have in the
book are good; most of them are

• • • * * SHEIF

117

hopelessly awful, even those by
writers such as Williamson and
Simak, who are doing much bet-
ter work today.

The tragedy is that many un-
informed parents will give this
volume to their kids as an intro-
duction to science fiction. The
works of Jules Verne and H. G.
Wells, for all their age, would be
a better primer.

ROCKETS, JETS, GUIDED
MISSILES AND SPACE
SHIPS, by Jack Coggins and
Fletcher Pratt, Introduction by
Willy Ley. Random House, New
York, 1951. 60 pages 8 by 11
inches, $1.00

TFERE, on the other hand, is
•*•-■- definitely the best buy for
boys in the last two or three
years. It is a beautifully, densely
illustrated summary, in simple,
graphic language, of the origins,
development, current status and
probable future of the reaction
principle as a source of flight
power.

Every page has at least one,
and often two or three, superbly
real pictures by Jack Coggins,
nearly 25 of them in full color.
Many of them are semi -technical
Charts which do a brilliant job of
showing what rocketry is actually
about.

Al! for $1.00!

Fletcher Pratt has done a fine

job of dramatic condensation in
his text, telling the whole story
by its high spots from the days of
the Chinese invention of gun-
powder through "What the Well-
Dressed Spaceman Will Wear"
and "Meteorites?'* (they're no
hazard to speak of).

There is not one suspicion of
"writing down" in the whole
book, either. Just what one needs
for one's 9-to-90-year-old ac-
quaintances who want to learn
the ABCs of rocketry completely
painlessly.

BULLARD OF THE SPACE
PATROL, by Malcolm Ja'meson.
Edited by Andre Norton. World
Publishing Co., Cleveland S^ New
York, 1951. 255 pages, $2.50

NICE to have these seven
clean-cut and expert space
operas by the late Malcolm
Jameson between hard covers.
The volume is published frankly
as a juvenile, which is smart busi -
ness sense, even though it is to
be assumed that Astounding k l
ence Fiction did not publish them
as such originally.

Plenty of action, but action
kept within human and possible
range, all taking place in the
Solar System. There are no rkm
no faster- than -light travel, no
Alien Intelligences: just men of
the Space Patrol and their con-
freres and adversaries.

lit

GAIAXY SCIENCE FICTION

Odd and complicated scientific
devices abound; there is much
manly competition between the
crew of Bullard's Pollux and that
of her sister ship the Castor; and
enough — but not too much — of
the weird and inexplicable take
place in space and on the planets,
moons and asteroids that are the
natural and lawful prowling
grounds of the Patrol.

The stories gain their charm
and durability from the simplic-
ity and directness with which
they weir conceived and written.
There is no cheap melodrama.

Whether the average "sophis-
ticated" adult will enjoy them,
I don't know. I do, but then
maybe I'm not quite adult yet.
Certainly all youngsters with an
ounce of adventurousness in
their bones will go all-out for
these swiftly moving and very
i;eal-seerning tales of tomorrow's
adventures in space.

THE BLIND SPOT, by Austin
Hall and Homer Eon Flint. Prime
Press, Philadelphia, 1951, 293
pages, $3.50

HpHIS is an astonishingly com-
■*■ pclling and dramatic story —
overwritten, it is true, and lean-
ing a little heavily on the side
of the pseudo-metaphysical, as so
much fantasy did in the days
when this book first was serialized
(Argosy-AII-Story, 1921). Never-

theless, it is a fascinating and in

some ways curiously modern
piece of genuine science fiction.

It may well be that The Blind
Spot is the first of all "parallel
world" stories of modern times—
and let the experts correct me if
they can!

The ingenious thesis of the
l^bok is that there are two parallel
worlds, between which communi-
cation can be had only through
the "spot" or locus, which our
world calls "Blind" and the other
world calls "The Spot of Life.**
And to each world, the other is
"The Beyond" or "The World
After Death" or Heaven;* in an
entirely non-theological sense.

The complications and impli-
cations of this notion, circum-
stantially worked out in meticu-
lous detail, make for an uncom-
fortably real story. It is one of
its major triumphs that the novel
seems wholly within the realm
of fact while one is reading it—
surely the acid tests of good sci-
ence fantasy. $

There is no point in even at-
tempting to outline the plot and
the denouement, since to try to
retell them would be practically
to write the book. Enough) to say
that only the most jaded and un-
imaginative of readers will be
able to put this honored classic
down unfinished.

It's good.

— CROFF CONKLHf

• • • • • SHEiF

119

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The
Addicts

WILLIAM
MORRISON

Illustrated by
ED. ALEXANDER

Wives always fry Jo cure husbands of
bad habits, even on lonely asteroids!

OU must understand that
Palmer loved his -wife as
much as ever, or he would
never have thought of his simple
little scheme at all. It was en-
tirely for her own good, as he had
told himself a dozen times in the
past day. And with that he stilled
whatever qualms of conscience he
night otherwise have had. He

didn't think of himself as being
something of a murderer.

She was sitting at the artificial
fireplace, a cheerful relic of an*
cient days, reading just as peace*
fully as if she had been back
home on Mars, instead of on this
desolate outpost of space. She
had adjusted quickly to the lone-
liness and the strangeness of this

122

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

life — to the absence of friends,
the need for conserving air, the
strange feeling of an artificial
gravity that varied slightly at the
whim of impurities in the station
fuel. To everything, in fact, but
her husband.

She seemed to sense his eyes
on her, for she looked up and
smiled. "Feeling all right, dear?'*
she asked.

"Naturally. How about you?"
"As well as can be expected."
"Not very good, then,"
She didn't reply, and he
thought, She hates to admit it,
but she really envies me. Well,
I'll fix it so that she needrit any
more. And he stared through the
thick, transparent metal window
at the beauty of the stars, their
light undimmed by dust or atmo-
sphere.

The stories told about the
wretchedness of the lighthouse
keepers who lived on asteroids
didn't apply at all to this particu-
lar bit of cosmic rock. Life here
had been derful, incredibly

satisfying. At least it had been
that way for him. And now it
would be the same way for his
wife as well.

He would have denied it hotly
if you had accused him of finding
her repulsive. But to certain
drunks, the sober man or woman
i« an offense, and Palmer was
much more than a drunk. He was
a marak addict, and in the eyes of

the marak fiends, all things and
all people were wonderful, except
those who did not V share their
taste for the drug. The latter were
miserable, depraved creatures,
practically subhuman.

Of course that was not the way
most of them put it. Certainly it
was not the way Palmer did. He
regarded his wife, he told him-
self, as an unfortunate individual
whom he loved very much, one
whom it was his duty to make
happy. That her new-found hap-
piness would also hasten her
death was merely an unfortunate
coincidence. She was sure to die
anyway, before long, so why not
have her live out her last days in
the peace and contentment that
only marak could bring?

Louise herself would have had
an answer to that, if he had ever
put the question to her. He was
careful never to do so.

She laid the book aside and
looked up at him again. She said,
"Jim, darling, do you think you
could get the television set work-
ing again?"

"Not without a mesotron rec-
tifier."

"Even the radio would be a
comfort."

**It wouldn't do any good, any-
way. Too much static from both
Mars and Earth this time of

i»

year.

■

That was the beauty of the
marak, he thought. It changed his

THE ADDICTS

12$

mood, and left him -calm and in
full command of his faculties,
able to handle any problem that
came up. He himself, of course,
missed neither the radio nor the
television, and he never touched
the fine library of micro -books.
He didn't need them.

A shadow flitted by outside the
thick window, blotting out for a
moment the blaze of stars. It was
the shadow of death, as he knew t
and he was able to smile even at
that. Even death was wonderful.
When it finally came, it would
find him happy. He would not
shudder away from it, as he saw
Louise doing now at the sight of
the ominous shadow.

He smiled at his wife again, re-
membering the six years they had
lived together. It had been a short
married life, but — again the word
suggested itself to him— a won-
derful one. There had been only
one quarrel of importance, in the
second year, and after that they
had got along perfectly. And then,
two years ago, he had begun to
take marak, and after that he
couldn't have quarreled with any-
one. It was a paragon among
drugs, and it was one of the mys-
teries of his existence that any-
body should object to his using it.

Louise had tried to argue with
him after she had found out, but
he had turned every exchange of
views into a peaceful discussion,
which from his side, at least, was

brimming over with good humor.
He had even been good-humored
when she tried to slip the antidote
into his food. It was this attitude
of his that had so often left her
baffled and enraged, and he had
a good chuckle out of that, too.
Imagine a wife getting angry be-
cause her husband was too good-
natured.

But she was never going to get
angry again. He would see to
that. Not after tonight. A big
change was going to take place
in her life.

She had picked up another
book, and for the moment he pit-
ied her. He knew that she wasn't
interested in any books. She was
merely restless, looking for some-
thing to do with herself, seeking
some method of killing time be-
fore the shadows outside killed it
for her for good and all. She
couldn't understand his being so
peaceful and contented, doing
nothing at all.

She threw the second book
down and snarled — yes, that was
the word, *' You're such a fool,
Jim! You sit there, smug and sure
of yourself, your mind blank, just
waiting — waiting for them to kill
you and me. And you seem actu-
ally happy when I mention it."

"I'm happy at anything and
everything, dear."

"At the thought of dying too?"

"Living or dying— it doesn't
make any difference. Whatever

124

GAIAXY SCIENCE FICTION

happens, I'm incapable of being
unhappy;'

"If it weren't for the drug, we'd
both live. You'd think of a way
to kill them before they killed
us/'

''There is no way."

"There must be. You just can't
think of it while the drug has you
in its grip/ 1

"The drug doesn't have you,
dear." He asked without sarcasm,
"Why don't you think of a way?"

"Because I lack the training
you have. Because I don't have
the scientific knowledge, and all
the equipment scattered around
means nothing to me.**

"There's nothing to be done.*

Her fists clenched. "If you
weren't under the influence of the
drug — "

"You know that it doesn't af-
fect the ability to think. Tests
have shown that."

"Tests conducted by addicts
themselves!"

"The fact that they can con-
duct the tests should be proof
enough k that there's nothing
wrong with their minds.**

"But there k!" she shouted. *I
can see it in you. Oh, I know that
you can still add and subtract,
and you can draw lines under two
words which mean the same
thing, but that isn't really think-
ing. Real thinking means the abil-
ity to tackle real problems— hard
problems that you can't handle

merely with paper and pencil. It
means having the incentive to use
your brain for a long time at a
stretch, And that's what the drug
has ruined. It has taken away all
your incentive."

"I still go about my duties."

"Not as well as you used to,
and even at that, only because
they've become a habit. Just as
you talk to me, because I've be-
come a habit. If you'd let me
give you the antidote — "

He chuckled at the absurdity
of her suggestion. Once an addict
had been cured, he could not
become addicted again. The anti-
dote acted to produce a perma-
nent immunization against the ef-
fects of the drug. It was the
realization of this fact that made
addicts fight so hard against any
attempt to cure them. And she
thought that she could convince
him by argument!

He said, "You talk of not being
able to think!"

"I know," she replied hotly.
"I'm the one who blunders. Fm
the fool, for arguing with you,
when I realize that it's impossible
to convince a marak addict."

"That's it/' he nodded, and
chuckled again. But that wasn't
quite it. For he was also chuckling
at his plan. She had thought him
unable to tackle a real problem.
Well, he would tackle one to-
night. Then she would simply
adopt his point of view, and she

THE ADDICTS

would no longer be unhappy. Af-
ter she had accepted the solution
he had provided, she would won-
der how she could ever have op-
posed him.

He fell into one of his dozes and
hardly noticed her glaring at him.
When he came put of it at last,
it was to hear her say, "We have
to stay alive as long as possible.
For the sake of the lighthouse."

"Of course, my dear, I don't
dispute that at all."

"And the longer we stay alive,
the more chance there is that
some ship will pick us up,"

"Oh, no, there's no chance at
all," he asserted cheerfully. "You
know that as well as I do. No use
deceiving yourself, my love."

That, he observed to himself,
was the way of non-addicts. They
couldn't look facts in the face.
They had to cling to a blind and
silly optimism which no facts
justified.

He knew that there was no
hope. He* was able to review the
facts calmly, judiciously, to see
the inevitability of their dying —
and to take pleasure even in that.

He reviewed them for her now.
"Let us see, sweetheart, whether
I've lost my ability to analyze a
situation. We're here with our
pretty little lighthouse in the mid-
dle of a group of asteroids be-
tween Mars and Earth. Ships
have been wrecked here, and our
task is to prevent further wrecks.

■ /

The lighthouse sends out a stand-
ard high-frequency beam whose
intensity and phase permit astro-
gators to estimate their distance
and direction from us. Ordinarily f
there's nothing for us to do. But
on the rare occasions when the
beam fails-

"That will be the end."

"On those occasions/* he con-
tinued, unruffled by her interrup-
tion, "I am supposed to leave my
cosy little shelter, so thoughtfully
equipped with all the comforts of
Earth or Mars, and make repairs
as rapidly as possible. Under the
usual conditions, lighthouse keep-
ing is a boring task. In fact, it has
been known to drive people in-
sane. That's why it's generally as-
signed to happily married couples
like us, who are accustomed to
living quietly, without excite-
ment."

"And that," she added bitterly,
"is why even happily married
couples are usually relieved after
one year "

"But, darling," he said, his tone
cheerful, "you mustn't blame
anyone. Who would have ex-
pected that a maverick meteor
would come at us and displace us
from our orbit? And who would
have expected that the meteor
would have collided first with the
outer asteroids, and picked up a
cargo of — those?"

)ie gestured toward the win*
dow, where a shadow had mo-

126

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

THE ADDICTS

1 If

mentarily paused. By the light
that shone through, he could see
that the creature was relatively
harmless-looking. It had what
appeared to be a round, humor-
ous face whose unhumorous in-
tentions would be revealed only
»t the moment of the kill. The
seeming face was actually fea-
tureless, for it was not a face at
all. It had neither eyes, nor nose,
nor mouth. The effect of features
was given by the odd blend of
colors. Almost escaping notice be-
cause of their unusual position
end their dull brown hue were
the stomach fangs, in neat rows
which could be extended and re-
tracted like those of a snake.

He noticed that Louise had
shuddered again, and said, in the
manner of a man making conver-
sation, "Interesting, aren't they?
They're rock breathers, you
know. They need very little oxy-
gen, and they extract that from
the silicates arid other oxygen-
containing compounds # of the
mck."

**Don't talk about them."

*AH right, if you don't want
me to. But about us — you see,
my dear, no one expected us to
be lost And even if the Light-
house Service has started to look
for us, it'll take a long time to
find us."

*We have food, water, air. If
not for those beasts, we'd last

until a rescue ship appeared."

"But even a rescue ship
wouldn't be able to reach us un-
less we kept the beam going. So
far, we've been lucky. It's really
functioned remarkably well. But
sooner or later it'll go out of or-
der, and then I'll have to go out
and fix it. You agree to that, don't
you, LouiSe, dear?"

She nodded. She said quietly,
"The beam must be kept in
order."

"That's when the creatures will
get me," he said, almost with sat-
isfaction. "I may kill one or two
of them, although the wny I feel
toward everything, I hate to kill
anything at all. But you know,
sweetheart, that there are more
than a do2en of them altogether,
and it's clumsy shooting in a
spacesuit at beasts which move
as swiftly as they do."

"And if you don't succeed in
fixing what's wrong, if they get
you — " She broke down suddenly
and began to cry.

He looked at her with compas-
sion and smoothed her hair. And
yet, under the influence of the
drug, he enjoyed even her crying.
It was, as he never tired of re-
peating to himself and to her, a
wonderful drug. Under its spell,
a man — or a woman — could
really enjoy life.

Tonight she would begin to en-
joy life along with him.

ia«

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

HP HEIR chronometer func-
-*• tioned perfectly, and they still
regulated their living habits by
it* using Greenwich Earth time.
At seven in the evening they sat
down to a fine meal. Knowing
that tomorrow they might die,
Louise had decided that tonight
they would eat and drink as well
as they could, and she had se-
lected a Christmas special. She
had merely to pull a lever, and
the food had slid into the oven,
to be cooked at once by an in-
tense beam of high-frequency
radiation. Jim himself had chosen
the wine and the brandy — one of
the peculiarities of the marak
was that it did not affect the
actual enjoyment of alcoholic
drinks in the slightest, and one
of the sights of the Solar System
was to see an addict who was also
drunk.

But it was a rare sight, for
the marak itself created such a
pervading sensation of well-being
that it often acted as a cure for
alcoholism. Once an alcoholic
had experienced its effect, he had
no need to get drunk to forget
his troubles. He enjoyed his trou-
bles instead, and drank the al-
cohol for its own sake, for its
ability to provide a slightly dif-
ferent sensation, and not for its
ability to release him from an un-
happy world.

So tonight Palmer drank mod-
erately, taking just enough, as it

seemed to him, to stimulate his
brain. And he did what he now
realized he should have done long
ago. Unobserved, he placed a
tablet of marak in his own wine-
glass and one in Louise's. The
slight bitterness of taste would
be hardly perceptible. And after
that Louise would be an addict
too.

That was the way the marak
worked. There was nothing mys-
terious about the craving. It was
simply that once you had ex-
perienced how delightful it was,
ypu wouldn't do without it.

The tablet he had taken that
morning was losing its effect, but
he felt so pleased at what he was
doing that he didn't mind even

that. For the next half hour he
would enjoy himself simply by
looking at Louise, and thinking
that now at last they would be
united again, no longer kept apart
by her silly ideas about doing
something to save themselves.
And then the drug would take
effect, and they would feel them-
selves lifted to the stars together,
never to come down to this sub-
stitute for Earth again until the
beam failed, and they went out
together to make the repairs, and
the shadows closed in on them.
He had made sure that Louise
had her back to him when he
dropped the tablet into her glass,
and he saw that she suspected
nothing. She drank her wine, he

THE ADDICTS

129

noticed, without even comment-
ing on the taste. He felt a sudden
impulse to kiss her, and, some-
what to her surprise, he did so.
Then he sat down again and went
on with the dinner.

He waited.

An hour later he knew that he
had made her happy. She was
laughing as she hadn't laughed
for a long time. She laughed at
the humorous things he said, at
the flattering way he raised his
glass to her, even at what she saw
through the window. Sometimes
it seemed to him that she was
laughing at nothing at all.

He tried to think of how he had
reacted the first time he had taken
the drug. He hadn't been quite
so aggressively cheerful, not quite
so — hysterical. But then, the drug
didn't have exactly the same ef-
fect on everyone. She wasn't as
well balanced as he had been.
The important thing was that
she was happy.

Curiously enough, he himself
wasn't happy at all.

It took about five seconds for
the thought to become clear to
him, five seconds in which he
passed from dull amazement to
an enraged and horrified compre-
hension. He sprang to his feet,
overturning the table at which
they still sat. And he saw that
she wasn't surprised at all. that
she still stared at him with a
secret satisfaction.

"You've cured me!" he cried.
"You've fed me the antidote!"

And he began to curse. He re-
membered the other time she had
tried it, the time when he had
been on the alert, and had easily
detected the strange metallic taste
of the stuff. He had spat it out,
and under the influence of the
drug from which she had hoped
to save him, he had laughed at
her.

Now he was unable to laugh.
He had been so intent on feeding
the tablet to her that he had for-
gotten to guard himself, and he
had been caught. He was normal
now — her idea of being normal
— and he would never again know
the wonderful feeling the drug
gave. He began to realize his situ-
ation on this horrible lonely as-
teroid. He cast a glance at the
window and at what must be
waiting outside, and it was his
turn to shudder.

He noticed that she was still
smiling.

He said bitterly, "You're the
addict now and I'm cured."

She stopped smiling and said
quietly, "Jim, listen to me. You're
wrong, completely wrong, I didn't
give you the antidote, and you
didn't give me the drug."

"I put it in your wine-glass
myself."

She shook her head. "That w^s
a tablet I substituted for yours.
It's an anti-virus dose from our

130

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

medicine chest. You took one of
the same things. That's why you
feel so depressed. You're not un-
der the influence of the drug any
more."

He took a deep breath. "But
I'm not cured?"

"No. I knew that I wouldn't
be able to slip you the antidote.
The taste is too strong. Later
you'll be able to start taking the
drug again. That is, if you want
to, after experiencing for a time
what it is to be normal. But not
now. You have to keep your head
clear. You have to think of some-
thing to save us."

"But there's nothing to think
of!" he shouted angrily. "I told
you that the drug doesn't affect
the intelligence!"

"I still don't believe you. If
you'd only exert yourself, use
your mind — "

He said savagely, "I'm not go-
ing to bother. Give me those
marak tablets,"

She backed away from him. "I
thought you might want them.
I took no chances. I threw them
out."

"Out there?" A horrified and
incredulous look was on his face.
"You mean that I'm stuck here
without them? Louise, you fool,
there's no help for us! The other
way, at least, we'd have died
happy. Bat now — "

He stared out the window. The
shadows were there in full force.

Not one now, but two, three-
he counted half a dozen. It was
almost as if they knew that the
end had come.

They had reason to be happy t
he thought with despair. And per-
haps — he shrank back from the
thought, but it forced itself into
his mind — perhaps, now that all
happiness had gone, and wretch-
edness had taken its place, he
might as well end everything.
There would be no days to spend
torturing himself in anticipation
of a horrible death.

Louise exclaimed suddenly,
"Jim, look! They're Irolickini!"
He looked. The beasts certainly
were gay. One of them leaped
from the airless surface of the
asteroid and sailed over its fel-
low. He had never seen them do
that before. Usually they clung
to the rocky surface. Another was
spinning around oddly, as if it
had lost its sense of balance-
Louise said, "They've swal-
lowed the tablets! Over a hundred
doses — enough to drug every
beast on the asteroid!"

For a moment Palmer stared
at the gamboling alien drug ad-
dicts. Then he put on his space-
suit and took his gun, and,
without the slightest danger to
himself, went out and shot them
one by one. He noted, with a
kind of grim envy, that they

died happy.

—WILLIAM MORRISON

THE ADDICTS

131

HALLUCINATION

The one thing wrong with

h not the solitude. In

H*-

ooo %

>-*

&r;

192

/*1

ORD sat in his swivel chair
and surveyed the Solar
System. The clarity of vi-
sion, unimpeded by the two-
./" hundred-mile curtain of Earth's
atmosphere, was such that, from
his position in Pluto's orbit, he
could see with the naked eye
every one of the planets except
Pluto itself, hiding in a cluster
of bright stars, and Mercury,
eclipsed at the moment by the
Sun.
But, then, Ord knew exactly

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

-•

ORBIT

By J. T. M'INTOSH

being alone on o space station

fact, ff's exactly ffc* opposiM

where to look. Every day f for
over two thousand days, he had
looked out on the Solar System,
He had seen Mercury scuttle
round the Sun twenty-five times
Venus, more sedately, nine ; Earth
had made six of the familiar trip*
through space that meant yearsj
Mars was on its fourth journey?
but Jupiter wasn't more tham
halfway around yet

"It helps, I suppose, to be abl«
to see them/ said a light, whim*
voice behind htm. Eve*

^ ,.y

AllUCINATlOM Otllf

lit

when Una said the most serious
things, which was often, her voice
laughed. "If you hadn't been able
to see the planets, you'd have
been a strait jacket case long ago."

"Who knows I'm not one now?"
Ord asked. "You don't, anyway/'

He didn't turn yet. He post-
poned the moment when he
would, dragging it out almost
ecstatically from second to sec-
ond — like a heavy smoker halt-
ing, pausing deliberately in
anticipation, cigarette in mouth,
before lighting it,

"I think," she retorted, the
laughter in her voice as ever,
"that so long as you talk sanely
about madness, you can't be so
far gone."

The moment came. He couldn't
wait forever. He swung around
and looked at her with a slow,
ironical smile. He had known
more beautiful women, but none,
perhaps, who knew their limita-
tions as well as she did.

Una always wore that spotless
white shirt, open-necked and
tucked tightly into the waistband
of her sharply creased bottle-
green slacks. Perhaps it was pes-
simistic to think the worst of what
one didn't know, but Ord took it
for granted that Una's only good
points of figure were the neat
waist and upper half and the
length of leg that her customary
outfit displayed.

There was a slight irregularity

about her forehead which she
treated adroitly by always having
a cascade of her beautiful ash-
blonde hair over one side of her
face. Her teeth were splendid in
a subtle half -smile; she never
allowed herself more. There was
just a hint at the top button of
her chaste, irhpeccable shirt that
her skin wasn't all of a uniform
satin smoothness, but suspicion
was never allowed to grow to cer-
tainty*

«*

HOW long now, Colin?" Una
asked. "I don't watch time
as you do. Where could they be,
if they started whenever the beam
failed?"

"I haven't worked it out since
you asked the last time." He
couldn't still the tremor in his
voice. "But they could be very
close."

There was a hint of regret in
her nod,

Ord looked past her at the
blank wall opposite the observa-
tion windows. He wasn't cramped.

The space station three billion
six hundred million miles from
the Sun was designed for one
man who would always be alone,
who would spend two years in his
own company for the somewhat
fabulous salary of a space station
officer, and everything had been
done to make the quarters seem
roomy and comfortable without
giving a chilling impression of

134

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

emptiness* There was the obser-
vatory, the machine room, the
lounge, the workshop, the bed-
room, the bathroom, the store-
rooms, even a spare room into
which Una disappeared, though
it had not been provided for Una
or anyone like her.

As Ord looked at the blank
wall, he was thinking of the ac-
tivity on Earth, six years before,
when one of the three Pluto di-
rectional radio beams had failed.
There were plenty of beams left
to guide ships through space, but
the sudden failure of Station
Two's beam must have had some
effect on almost every interplan-
etary trip. Five minutes on the
Moon trip, at certain times; two
or three days on journeys to Mars
or Venus, depending on the rela-
tive positions of the starting
point, destination, and the two
remaining Pluto beams; weeks,
even months more required for
the run to some of the asteroids
and the satellites of the outer
planets.

Two spokes of the directional
wheel remained, but that left a
great gaping angle of a hundred
and twenty degrees, served only
feebly by the beams from ships'
destinations, with no powerful
universal beam to reinforce them.

The situation was not new.
Some day there would be so
many line-of-flight beams in the
Solar System that ships wouldn't

have to know the beams they
were on. They would merely
point their noses where they
wanted to go and cast off, like
so many galleons sailing before
the wind. But as yet there was
not enough interplanetary travel
to make the duplication of beams
practicable.

If a beam failed, it failed, and
more than six years had to pass
before it could be put in opera-
tion again, unless the failure oc-
curred at a convenient time —
when a ship was well on the way
to relieve a station officer and
check the equipment, say.
Through history, however, fail-
ure of anything man-made had
tended to come almost always at
the most inconvenient times.

Ord followed the ship in his
mind through its six-year jour-
ney- A week to prepare. Two days
to reach the Moon. Three weeks
for the run to Mars, which would
have been sixteen days if Station
Two had been sending out its
beam. Then trouble. Only the
little Ganymede beam, in the po-
sitions of the planets and their
satellites at the time, to help the
repair ship on its way from Mars,
Almost nine months to Jupiter,
But at least, by that time, the
ship would have some velocity to
help the rockets on the remaining
three billion two hundred million
miles . . . and the long, dreary
search for the silent speck in

HALLUCINATION ORBIT

135

space that was the space station.

Eleven months altogether, with
the beam; over six years with-
out it.

One thing that helped Ord bear
the extra five years of solitude he
had to spend aboard the station,
thousands of millions of miles
from the nearest man, was the
thought of the accumulated pay
he would collect. The station of-
ficers were necessary* and the va-
rious space lines had to accept
responsibility for them.

He would be set up for life, at
twenty-nine, when he got back to
Earth at last.

UNA shrugged. "Oh, well, it's
been nice knowing you. And
I mean that/'

"It would be for you, Una. But
that was because of the others
be-fore you. I learned a lot."

" You've just broken rule one/*
she said lightly. "Never talk of
'the others/ Just be careful you
don't break rule two/'

"What rule is that?' 1

"You should know* You want
me to break it? Most particularly,
never talk of any others to come/'

She made a gesture of dismis-
sal, as if she were tearing the
whole subject out of a notebook,
crumpling it and throwing it
•way.

"Shall we play chess?" she
asked lightly. "It's a long time
since we did."

"AH right. But not here. Let's
go into the lounge/'

He led the way through the
station as if she didn't know it as
well as he did. He set up the
pieces rapidly, through long prac-
tice. Una didn't sit down oppo-
site him, but poised on the edge
of the sofa. She always kept her
long, graceful line intact.

They had just made the first
oblique reference to something
which had been growing for a
long time. Undoubtedly Ord was
growing tired of Una. It; was no-
body's fault, or his, in so far as
it was anyone's. There was a hint
of farewell in the chess game.
One for the road, so to speak.

Una played quickly and deci-
sively. One particularly rapid
move brought the usual com-
plaint from Ord.

"I wish you'd pay more atten-
tion/' he protested. "If you win,
I look silly, taking so much time
to think things out. And if I $in,
you lose nothing because you ob-
viously weren't trying/'

Una laughed. "It's just a
game," she answered.

She won the first game. "Luck/'
Ord grunted, without heat. "You
never saw the danger of that rook
to bishop's fourth."

"Perhaps not. But look how
well I followed it up, so it really
doesn't matter, does it?"

They played the inevitable sec-
ond game, and inevitably, also.

1*4

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

Ord won it. Like all chess players
who have won a game they knew
they could win when and how
they wished, he felt relaxed and
pleased with himself.

He yawned.

Una rose. "I can take a hint,*
she said.

"No, please . . "

She smiled at him and disap-
peared into her room. v

Ord spent a long time looking
at the blank door. He had been
warned against solitosis (Latin
Bolitarius, from solus, and the
Greek -osis), but for him it wasn't
so bad. He still knew the truth;
perhaps that was it. After all this
time, he was still in no danger of
really believing what was not so.
For example • • .

TTE got up and went through
-"--*■ to the machine room. Among
other things, this room presented
a complete picture of conditions
throughout the entire station
from moment to moment. He
could sit before the dials and
switches and meters and check on
everything from the outside tem-
perature to the air pressure in the
farthest storeroom.

He could see quite plainly, for
example, that the temperature in
Una's room, as of that moment,
was minus 1 10 degrees Centi-
grade. A long way above abso-
lute zero, certainly — but a long
way below comfortable bedroom

temperature. Moreover, the air
pressure was only eight pounds.

In a word, though he had seen
Una enter the room, he might
see her come out of it again. But
Una wasn't there. The door had
never been open.

There was no Una.

Knowing that fact was a big
factor. Long ago, he had feared
a time when he wouldn't know
such things. He still feared it
now and then.

Yet if he pressurized the spare
room, raised its temperature and
then walked in, he would see Una
asleep in the bed. If he touched
her, she would be real. If he
slapped her face with his hand,
his palm would sting, and she
would awaken, resentful. If he
stabbed her, she would die, and
he would have to take the trouble
of burying her out in space.

That was all real — to him.

But he could see and appre-
ciate the facts indicated by the
dials. Even though he was tired
of Una, however, he could not
merely tell her to vanish and she
would be gone. He had had to
provide a ship to bring her here,
and he would have to provide
another to take her away.

Solitosis was no new thing; k
had been discovered soon after
space flight. Unfortunately, no
one had so far discovered what
to do about it, except remove the
conditions that produced it. Space

HALLUCINATION ORBIT

137

Is not merely a void; it's emptier
than that — empty of horizon, sky,
soft sunlight, ground and green-
ery and buildings, empty of time
and continuity of one's history,
either as an individual or mem-
ber of the human race. Worst of
all, it's empty of people. A her-
mit may deliberately escape ci-
vilization, but leave him alone on
a deserted world and he turns
psychotic. That, in short, is soli-
tosis.

There was a reason for the fact
that there was a space station of-
ficer — he could handle the main-
tenance of the station — and a rea-
son for the fact that -there was
only one. Two men together were
not enough to protect each other
from solitosis. The critical num-
ber was about forty. But to leave
forty men on a space station was
uneconomic. To leave fewer, yet
more than one, was dangerous to
dflh for solitosis could be homi-
cidal.

The natural solution was to
leave one man, who would natu-
rally become a solitosis victim,
but generally didn't harm him-
self and could be restored to com-
plete sanity when he was relieved
—simply by returning him to
Earth.

It was simple. It worked. Of
course, station officers had to be
paid to take two years of insan-
ity. It was rarely completely
pleasant or completely unpleas-

ant. The result took different
forms, but always there were
pleasures and pains.

No station officer was ever in
a position tb know what he was
in for before he signed on, for no
man was allowed to subject him-
self to solitosis twice.

But Ord was more interested
in the problem of Una. He knew,
of course, that he wouldn't work
any solution out and do some-
thing about it. His particular
brand of solitosis didn't work
like that. Certainly, somewhere
in his mind, a decision was being
reached. But what that was was
hidden from him. He had to wait
and see what happened. But be-
ing tired of Una, he knew the
general lines*

OUTTING on his suit. Ord

-*- went outside. Fifty years be-
fore, scores of ships had come in
on the beam from the station,
which had been held on its course
by six freighters. Each ship in
the fleet had dragged or pushed
a lump of rock that nobody
wanted, for the station, when
complete, had to have mass*
Gradually, a planet was built — a
very small planet, but enough to
form a base for the station and
enable it to follow Pluto in its
orbit with a minimum expendi-
ture of power. The station on
Pluto itself was already in oper-
ation, and Station Three was be-

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

ing set up concurrently-
Bouncing gently over the rocks
of the dark, airless world that was
only big enough to hold a small
ship to its surface, Ord paused
at the tiny cruiser Una had used.
It was as real as she was, no
more, no less. He forgot the de-
tails of the story that explained
Una's arrival. It was so com-
pletely preposterous that any girl
should arrive alone at any space
station, in any kind of ship, that
he hadn't bothered to think up a
convincing explanation, Una, like
the others, just appeared. She
had had a story which she was
prepared to tell, but he had cut it
short. That was most satisfactory
all around.

The ship, he saw, was not obvi-
ously damaged. He jumped up
on the hull experimentally. He *
thought that he landed on it and
stood twelve feet above the sur-
face of the planet.

He searched hazily for an ex-
planation. Perhaps he had picked
a spur of rock and made it the
ship. Perhaps his eyes manufac-
tured twelve feet of height. He
had never inspected the ship
closely, and he didn't now; it
would only demand a lot of tir-
ing mental effort. He wouldn't
know consciously that he was
constructing everything he saw,
but that was what he would be
doing.

He bounced back to the sta-

tion and into the airless machine
room to examine the beam equip-
ment once more. There was noth-
ing seriously wrong with it. He
could repair it in a few hours if
he had the tools and six hands,
which was more than most spactf '
station officers could say.

That was the difficulty about
a job like Ord's — station officers
had to be experienced. But how
could they be experienced when
they could never have done the
job before?

He cast a last glance around
the machine room and left.

Ord did think of going back to '
Una's ship, finding something
wrong and repairing it, so that it
would be possible for her to go.
But that would be humoring his
solitosis. He still preferred to be
as sane as possible.

He had involuntarily produced
men as companions once, but it
hadn't worked. He could never
become sufficiently interested in
their physical appearance to
make them real. He might talk 1
with them and enjoy talking, but
they were always ghosts and j
looked it. The women had never
been ghosts. t

In fact, he had been afraid,
once, that the time would come 1
when he would actually believe
in them. And, of course, he had
often explored the possibility that:
when someone actually came, he
would think it was part of an-

HALLUCINATION ORBIT

139

other hallucination, But there
seemed little reason to fear that
while it was still so easy to prove
to himself that he was alone at
the station.

He took off his suit and washed
and shaved carefully, having de-
cided, long since, that the normal
habits of human existence should
be carefully preserved. He dressed
neatly, though the station was
warm and there was no real need
for clothes, and, when he slept,
he wore pajamas.

There had been a time — the
time of Suzy and Margo — when
the apparent life at the station
was what might have been ex-
pected of a solitary man. But he
discovered, quite plainly and sim-
ply, that there were too many
complications. Una had perhaps
been too much of a swing in the
other direction. His relations with
her, Ord thought wryly, wouldn't
have been out of place in a Vic-
torian book for boys and girls,
except that he didn't mind her
smoking.

¥JTE slept for twelve hours. Qnce
*"• he wakened, half convinced
he had heard something, but he
was sleepy, didn't want to move,
and had no intention of pandering
to his own neurosis.

It was not until he had been
up for hours that he began to
wonder why Una didn't appear.
Perhaps she was ill. Perhaps,

though he didn't think of it that
way, he had decided unconscious-
ly to have her die on him, linger-
ingly and effectively.

He sighed, went to the machine
room and brought the tempera-
ture and air pressure of Una's
room to normal. Then he went in.

She was gone, but her perfume
lingered in the air.. He went to
the observation room and looked
for her ship. It was gone, too.

He was a little disgusted, but
he didn't blame himself. It was
easier and more satisfactory to
blame Una. She might at least
have said good -by. All in all, he
had liked her. He would have
liked to meet the real Una, if
there was one somewhere. He had
tired of her chiefly because she
had never become a genuine,
credible character. She had al-
ways been true to type, whereas
real people weren't.

He stayed in the observatory
and looked for a ship. He smiled
at the thought that what he be-
lieved to be a ship, bringing an-
other girl with another fantastic
story of being lost in space, might
turn out to be the relief ship.

He was glad his solitosis had
not taken the form that Benson's
had. Benson had lost all sense of
time. He had spent millions of
subjective years waiting for the
relief ship, though Benson only
had to wait the regulation two
years, Benson hadn't minded

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

much. He thought he had turned
into a mental giant. As it turned
out, his functioning IQ had really
gone up some fifteen points. It
came down again eleven points,
but certainly Benson had no rea-
son to regret his two years of
solitude. Nevertheless, Ord was
glad it hadn't taken him the same
way.

As he expected, the ship was
there, curving in for a landing. It
wasn't the relief ship, since it was
too small. It was, in fact, far too
small to be capable of the trip
from Earth with no beam to as-
sist it

Ord was on the merry-go-round
again. If he hadn't done a good
job on the last hours of Una, he

had made up for it with the first
few hours of whoever it was. The
little ship overshot, handled ex-
actly as women often handled
spacecraft. It took a long, five-
hour sweep that had Ord biting
his nails. Moreover, it wasn't a
rocket ship at all. Perhaps this
time the girl — naturally, it would
be a girl — had an explanation for
the impossible to beat all expla-
nations. She was certainly keep-
ing him in suspense.

But at last the ship was down,
and Ord, already in his spacesuit,
hurried out to it. A figure emerged
as he reached it, and through the
faceplate he saw a face which was
clear from the start.

The girl gestured toward the

ship, uselessly. He indicated the
space station. She shook her head
inside the huge helmet, pointing
to the ship. He was puzzled. This
was new.

Suddenly, to indicate her
meaning, she bent down and lifted
the end of the ship, then looked
up at him. He understood at last.
She was afraid it wasn't safe to
leave the ship there. She thought
it might blow away.

He laughed and tried to "reas-
sure her without words. It was
true enough that even a light
breeze might be enough to break
the feeble attraction of the planet
for the ship. But on a tiny man-
made world, with no atmosphere,
that was no problem. He demon-
strated, getting below the ship
and heaving. It sailed up slowly,
and for a moment Ord almost
shared the girl's fear that it would
never return. But then gravity
caught it and the ship returned
gently. It was clear that it would
take considerable force to break
the hold of the small world on it.

The girl turned from it, ready
to go with Ord to the space sta-
tion.

/^|RD shut the airlock and be-
^-^ gan to divest himself of his
suit. The girl, however, still wasn't
satisfied. She looked about for
meters to assure herself that the
pressure was sufficient. Gravely,
Ord pointed them out. Then she

HALLUCINATION ORBIT

141

opened her helmet and took a
slow, cautious breath.

"You must be Baker/' she said.

That was another shock. Baker
was the previous station officer,
and Ord had all but forgotten his
name — actually, until she men-
tioned it, the name had been for-
gotten. For a moment, Ord won-
dered wildly if the girl was one of
Baker's dreams, seven years late.
But Baker's solitosis hadn't taken
that form.

"No, Ord," he said. "Colin
Ord."

"Before we go any further,"
she said, "just how does solitosis
affect you?"

142

This, too, was new.

"Just makes me see things that
aren't there/* replied Ord cau-
tiously*

"And you know there's nothing
there?"

•'Sometimes,"

"Do you know I'm here?"

Ord grinned. *Tm not even
wondering about it."

Suddenly the girl was holding
a gun pointed at him.

"One thing you can be sure of,"
she told him. "This gun is here.
I don't want to be unpleasant,
but I think we should remove
misunderstandings. I'm not God's
little gift to lonely space station

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

officers, and any time you do any-
thing that indicates you think I
am, this comes out and it may do
some damage. That clear?"

Very. I told you my name.
What's yourr?

'Elsa Catterlinc. You want to
know why Im here, of course.

Not particularly.

She looked up warily at that.
But she went on lifting off her
helmet and removing her space-
suit. Ord made no move to help

HALLUCINATION ORBIT

143

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SCIENCE
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her* There was always the possi-
bility that it might really be dan-
gerous.

••I'll tell you all the same" she
continued. "I killed a man — why
and how doesn't matter. I had
access to an experimental ship.
That one out there. I thought if
I disappeared for about two
years . V. H

"Don*t labor over it," said Ord.
"I'm not asking questions."

"I know. I wonder why/'

She won her battle with the
suit and emerged. Ord's eyes wid-
ened. She was beautiful , really
beautiful, but he had expected
that. The unexpected thing was
that she wore the kind of outfit
girls in magazine stories wore in
similar circumstances — white ny-
lon shorts and what might have
been called the minimum bra.

Once there would have been
nothing surprising in that, but
for years he had been very care-
ful and restrained. He had tried
sex undiluted, and then had gone
back to diluting it in self -protec-
tion. It was a long time since any
of his girls had been so feminine
and made it so obvious.

In fact, for the first time, he
seriously considered the possibil-
ity that she was real. Real people
were sometimes more fantastic
than the wildest imaginings.

"I wonder," he said.

"Don't," she snapped.

u l was only thinking," he went

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

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HALLUCINATIO

ORBIT

145

*That was for the time when I
still wasn't sure you weren't vio-
lent. I think I can get on with
you, Ord."

He nodded coldly. The pattern
was clear now*

"I get it," he said.

The trouble was that it did
nothing to settle the question of
whether she was real or not. That
she could be merely Una's sue*
cessor was so obvious that there
was no need to go into it. But it
was also possible — unlikely, yet
possible — that a girl of the type
she seemed to be could have
picked a space station as a hide-
out and could have acted as she
had acted, was acting, and would
act.

He was suddenly tired of the
whole business. He wanted Earth.
It had been a dull throb all this
time, but now it flared to a mad
longing, as it did every few
months. It was all very well for
Wordsworth to talk about that
inward eye which is the bliss of
solitude. Get Wordsworth out
there and let him run a space
Station.

Ord wanted the presence o f
people about him that would keep
, him sane. He wanted to put wo-
men back in their place in his
life. He wanted to be able to
forget for hours, even days at a
time, that there were such things
as w— men.

Only twenty-four hours before.

\
he had been congratulating him-
self that solitosis hadn't really
got him. And now he didn't know
whether Elsa was real or not.
Either way, it was as bad. If she
was real, he should have known
it at once. If she was just another
ghost, he should have known that,
too.

"I'm going out to have a look
at your ship/* he said.

He thought she would object,
but she merely shrugged,

"You might have left your suit
on, then/' She told him.

Twenty minutes later he was
inside the little ship. He made no
examination. That could come af-
ter he had settled something else*
There was light and there was
air. Fourteen pounds per square
inch, the meters said.

He found a gasoline lighter and
manipulated it clumsily with his
bi£, semi-rigid gloves. The flame
flared. But that meant nothing-
If there was no lighter, and he
saw it, he might also see it burn
where there was no air.

There was a valve on his suit
to test air pressure. He opened it.
The little dial swung around to
fourteen pounds. The question
was, had he really opened the
valve? He tried again, concentrat-
ing, making sure he really had
hold of the valve. A half-turn was
all that was necessary. Slowly,
painfully, he turned it. He saw it
turn. There was still cigarette

146

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147

smoke in the small, cramped
quarters. He watched it swirl into
the little box at his hip. The nee-
dle registered fourteen pounds.

He felt the sweat on his fore-
head. Trying to deceive himself,
to get a jump ahead of his own
mind, he lunged out into the open
and twisted the valve again. He
told himself he was only testing
it. He looked down.

No pressure.

He raised his heavy arms and
stumbled like a sleepwalker back
to the ship's airlock. Still keeping
his arms raised, he entered the
control room again. Only then did
he look down.

The dial, untouched, still read

no pressure. There was no air on

the ship. There was no ship. Now
that he knew that, he was able to
open and close the valve.

Blsa was no more real than
Una.

IT was easier, then, to check ahd
doublecheck. Very soon he was
walking through the walls of the
ship she had come in. It was sim-
pler to check on it than on Elsa.
She would remain real to the
last, but the ship was only a
minor part of the illusion.

He had had some bad moments
in the last hour. It had become
all too clear that he was losing
his last defenses in his fight for
sanity in insanity. He had won
his battle again, but perhaps this

was the last time he would wlct
it. The next time he might fail
to prove the illusion. That, af-
ter this, wouldn't necessarily
prove the reality,

Elsa was finished. She had
been too real and not real enoughu
Why had he ever let Una go?

He plodded back to the sta-
tion and removed his suit. He
found Elsa in the lounge, squats
ting on her heels and looking like
a magazine cover.

"Out," he said bluntly. "It was
a mistake your coming here. I'm
sorry."

There was a flash of movement
as she dived for the gun. Just in
time he tensed himself, reminding
himself of what he had learned,
and when she fired at him he felt
nothing.

He grinned back at her.

"The instinct of self-preserva-
tion is too strong," he said. "I
can't let myself be shot, whatever

happens/'

He stepped forward. She fought
him for the gun. She bit his wrist,
and it hurt. But he got the gun.

"If you shoot me, nothing hap-
pens/' he pointed out. "But if I
shoot you, you die. You know
that?"

She nodded sullenly and got
up, put on her suit and left.

In twenty minutes, her ship
took off. Ord didn't even watch
it out of sight.

He still held the gun in his

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hand. He threw it in a drawer. It
would remain there until he for-
got it. Then there would be no
gun.

From now on, he decided, there
would be no surrender to soli-
to sis. There would be no more
Elsas or Suzys or Margos. When
he weakened, he would bring Una
back, or he might have another
try at male companionship.

FOR days, he thought he was
winning his battle. He slept
well, and he remained alone. He
spent a lot of time in the obser-
vation room, but he never saw a

ship.

The trouble was that the fight
was not on the conscious level of
his mind. There would be no
warning before he would sudden-
ly see a ship, without having
taken any conscious decision.
Then it would be too late to tell
himself there was no ship.

It came at last. There was a
tiny point of light moving visibly.
As soon as he saw it, he left* the
observation room and fought
with himself. He might convince
the other part of his mind that
it was a mistake, and when he
went back to the observation
room it would be a mistake — the
moving point of light would be
gone. It had happened before.

But solitosis was progressive,
he thought dully, as he stood in
the observation room four hours

later and saw the ship. If it didn't
get you under in one year, it did
it in two. Or four or six. Una, in-
telligent and restrained, had been
the last stand of a mind under
constant fire. Una was part of
the disease, yes, but a disease
still controlled firmly and confi-
dently. When he let Una go, he
had been giving up.

The ship this time was a life*
boat from a larger vessel. That
wasn't new. Suzy had come in a
lifeboat. So had Dorothy, later,
from the same mythical ship.

Ord stood and watched it land,
concentrating so that his hair
tingled with sweat. He wasn't try-
ing to exorcize the ship; that
would have been impossible. He
was merely building into himself
a powerful, binding resolve to
know on this and all future occa-
sions the truth from the lie. He
would not drive the new visitor
away as he had driven Elsa when
he discovered she was another
phantom. But he must know. Un-
til Elsa came, he had always
known. He mustn't lose that,
whatever else he lost.

He saw a spacesuited figure
emerge from the lifeboat, and
then he went down to the airlock
and waited.

He must be a hopeless roman-
tic, he thought while he waited-
Solitosis showed people a lot
about themselves. There had
been plenty of opportunity for

150

GALAXY SCIENCE PICT I O

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realism, as opposed to romance,
but he had never taken it.

The airlock opened. For a mo-
ment the face behind the plate of
the helmet was shadowy and ill-
defined. Then it cleared gradual-
ly, like a lantern slide carefully
focused, sharp and clear, on a
screen.

Ord sighed in relief. He hadn't
$>roved yet that the new girl was
another wraith, but it was going
to be possible, after all. With
Elsa's face as clear from the first
second as his own in a mirror,
how could he know?

THE girl opened her face-plate.
"Colin Ord?*' she said brisk-
ly. "I'm Dr. Lynn of Four Star
Lines. Marilyn Lynn. 1 * She grin-
ned, a friendly, put-you-at-your-
case grin. A professional grin —
part of the bedside manner of a
good doctor, male or female,
young or old. "Cacophanous," she
added, "but I've had quite a
while to get used to it."

"Very nice," he said. "First re-
mark of second castaway on des-
ert island. Do you tell me the
rest of the story straight away,
or are you going to be coy?"

She frowned — putting the fresh
patient in his place.

"I'm not going to tell you any-
thing,*' she said, "until I've found
out a little more about you."

"Excellent!" Ord answered.
*Tone, inflection and diction just

right. It all fits.

He saw with further relief that
she was of the Una type. She was
beautiful, naturally, but not fan-
tastic. And as she stripped off
her suit, he saw that she wore
slacks and a tunic, which was
reasonable. She looked intelligent.
She wasn't too young — at least
his own age. Perhaps he was still
the master.

She looked at him, too, with
the eye of a diagnostician.

"Don't bother," he told her. "I
sec things that aren't there. Par-
ticularly people."

She nodded. "I see. So you
don't believe I'm here?"

"Well, I ask you," he said

skeptically. "Would you, if you
were me?" He remembered a line
of nonsense verse — Lear, probably
— and quoted, "What would you
do if you were me to prove that
you were you?"

She was weighing the situation
calmly. She didn't seem to mind
Ord seeing what she was doing.

"Do you know I'm not real?"
she asked.

"No. That comes with time. At
least, it always has so far."

"You mean you've always
proved to yourself that your —
visitors were mere fantasy?"

"With a struggle," he admitted.

"Interesting, That looks like a
case of controlled solitosis. I
never heard of one before."

Ord laughed cynically. "That's

152

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTiO

right, feed my ego. It always
comes to that in the end."

The girl gestured at her dis-
carded suit. "You can't tell
whether that's real or not?"

"Not at once. Eventually, yes
—I hope."

He led her to the lounge. She
looked around and nodded. She
seemed pleased.

"Everything neat and tidy. You
have no idea what a pleasure it is
to meet you, Mr. Ord."

"That doesn't make you real,"
replied Ord rudely. "They all say
that"

She looked at him in surprise.
"Why should I want to make you
accept me as real?" she asked.

It was like a physical* blow.
Ord had no idea why, but that
didn't lessen the effect.

"That's right," he said slowly.
"Why should you?"

"Tell me about the others," she
suggested.

Like any good doctor, she gave
the impression that what moti-
vated her questions was not clin-
ical but personal interest. The
practicing doctor, Ord mused, was
primarily an artist, not a scien-
tist.

He told her. He edited the story
a little, but he told it fairly, with
particular detail on Elsa and Una,
his most recent companions.

"Una is interesting," Marilyn
said. "She was the only one who
knew everything that you do. She

didn't let you talk about it, but
she knew."

A UTOMATICALL Y, Ord be-
-**-gan to make coffee. Marilyn
watched him.

"When will you know whether
I'm real or not?" she asked casu-
ally.

"Can't say. Perhaps in five
minutes, perhaps not for hours,
I—"

"Don't tell me how you do
it," she said quickly. "Not yet.
Do it first. Does it involve me?
I mean, you don't shoot me to see
if I die, or anything, do you?"

He grinned. "Nothing like that

If I shot you, you would die —

like the witches in history. They

died if they were, and they died

if they weren't."

"Your mind has remained agile
enough."

"Naturally, I never heard of
solitosis inhibiting intelligence.
Did you?"

She was significantly silent.

He raised his eyebrows. "You
mean it often happens? Or al*
ways?"

"Not always. Frequently. It's
pretty obvious, isn't it? The mind
unbalanced naturally functions
less well than the normal mind. M

"Benson was the exception that
proves the rule?"

She nodded. She knew who
Benson was. That, like almost
everything else t proved nothing.

HALLUCINATION ORBIT

153

She held up her cup before her.

Is this part of the test? 1 * she

kcd. "Whether more coffee is

etually drunk than you drink

/ourself?" 1

"No. that doesn't help. It would

^3e very easy for me to make half

vhat I thought I made, to bring

out one cup and think I brought

wo, to take a nonexistent cup

'rom a nonexistent girl, like this."

He took it. "To fill it with noth-

ng and pass it back, and later

a H

■ KJ m a 4

His words died, for he had seen
>mething strange in her face,
"orror or sadness or understand-

\ k< couldn't be sure.

"\7! fa the matter?" he asked.

"I don't know. Perhaps I mis-
understood."

"Something I said?'* he contin-
ued. "Easy to make half what I
thought I made * . . you knew
about that, surely. And bringing
out one cup when I thought I
brought two. Nonexistent cup,
nonexistent girl — it can't be be-
cause I called you a nonexistent
ffirl. for we've been into that be-
fore. Naturally, if there's no cup
I'd be careful, with part of my
mind, not to pour coffee in it . . ."

He frowned. "There it is again.

" T ou tried not to show it this time,

t I caught a faint shadow of

y. 17 1 t'nng 1 r d or d'd fright-

you, or makes you unhappy,

»r maybe just interests you. I'm

not handing you imaginary cof-

fee, I am? It seems real/*

She was completely in control of
herself again. She laughed. "No,
not that. You're handing me real
coffee, which means that part of
your mind already knows I'm
real. But it's the part you don't
trust and can't touch."

"I'm not doing something I
don't know I'm doing, am I?"

She shook her head. "Since
you're bound to think about it f
whatever I say — it was just some-
thing you said. What you know
you said. And it's not horrible or
frightening and there's no earthly
reason why it should make me
sad. It's just something I didn't
know."

"You won't tell me any more
than that?"

She answered the question with
another. "Don't your puppets dQ
what you tell them?"
"No. You know that."
She put down the cup. "I'll
wash the dishes," she said lightly,
"Will that prove anything?"

"Sometimes, for an intelligent
girl, you're very dumb," he said
gloomily. "Next time they were
used, I could just imagine they
were washed, couldn't I?"

"Of course." Her eyes — brown
eyes, deep- set under thin eye-
brows — followed him as he rose
suddenly. "Where are you go*

ing?"

"To find out if you're real."
"My ship. Go ahead."

154

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

/"\RD went to the airlock and
^^ put on his spacesuit. He
thought for a while about what
he might have said that brought
that curious expression to Mari-
lyn's face. But it was very clear
that he could never, unaided,
work out the problem. What he
had said was so simple, so obvi-
ously true . . . and eventually she
would tell him about it. It didn't
matter.

There was nothing in what had
happened so far, or what she had
said, that settled the problem of
the moment. Possibly, to add to
all the other arguments against
the possibility of Marilyn being a
real woman, there was the con-
sideration that, if she were, she
would insist on it. But, after all,
would she? She was a doctor,
perhaps a psychiatrist. She knew
solitosis.

A doctor of any kind, he told
himself decidedly, encountering
anyone with solitosis, would most
certainly play along with him,
telling him nothing, denying
nothing, insisting on nothing.

That, he realized vaguely, was
of vital importance, He was not
at all sure why.

The test which had worked on
Elsa's ship was as good as any,
he thought, It might not work
twice, but he would do his best
to see that it did.

He opened the valve on his suit,
making quite certain it registered

atmosphere nil. Then he grasped
his gloves together and strained
his arms to pull them apart.
When he opened the lifeboat's
airlock, he kept his hands linked
by his thumbs. In a few moments
he stood in the control room of
the little ship, which was the only
room there, and his hands were
still linked.

The needle registered fifteen
pounds. A dull feeling of failure
numbed him.

He had concentrated with all
his power, making sure the valve
was really open and that he never
had a chance to close it. He tried
again, opening and closing it.

He might have known that
each new scheme only worked
once. He thought, trying to be
calm.

Solitosis wasn't a suicidal psy-
chosis, or at least he had heard
it Was never. He had seen it in
books. One small indication of
that had been when Elsa shot
him and he felt nothing, though
she had looked perfectly real.
He could be hurt, as when she
bit him, but not seriously.

He battered his fist against the
bulkhead. There was no straight
spur of rock that height where
the ship had landed. A bulkhead
was there, or there was nothing.

His glove was made to resist a
vacuum, but it wasn't cushioned
against impact. His hand hurt
and went on hurting.

HALLUCINATION ORBIT

I Si

Grimly, he continued beating
the bulkhead until he could not
force himself to bear any more
pain.

There was a bulkhead there.
Therefore, there was a ship. His
undamaged hand went to his
faceplate. He hesitated, then re-
minded himself that solitosis
wasn't suicidal. He opened the
plate. He felt his nose, his eyes,
his chin. He pinched his cheek.

The faceplate was open and
he could breathe.

Only two possibilities werfe left.
Either Marilyn and all that went
with her were real, or he was over
the top at last, absolutely in the
grip of solitosis, so that he
couldn't even be certain he had
left the space station.

And if Marilyn was real • « .

He collapsed weakly as an in-
sidious thought beat the spirit

196

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

out of him. He was ready to be-
lieve in Marilyn, but there was
one thing he could not ignore.
Solitosis got everyone. People
could fight it. but they could
never hold it off. Yet it had very
clearly not affected Marilyn. You
knew solitosis when you saw it.
Even he would know.

He could not say whether she
existed subjectively or objective-
ly — could he say whether the
station existed, whether Earth ex-
isted, whether there was a Gal-
axy? Was there any essential dif-
ference between Una and his
mother or his sister? Were they
all creatures of his mind?

Life itself might be a thought
in his mind. Matter could be
merely a concept. He existed.
"/ think, therefore I am.** He
could accept that. Could he ac-
cept anything else?

He forced himself fiercely back
to normalcy, limiting himself to
Marilyn. She existed, and because
she came in a ship in which he
could open his faceplate, she ex-
isted more than Una had.

Hanging determinedly onto
that idea, he closed the plate and
stumbled back to the station. It
seemed very far away. He had
taken too much out of himself.
Mental effort could be even more
exhausting than physical exer-
tion. Whatever the truth might
be, he had fought too hard to-
ward it or away from it.

He got through the airlock into
the station and, safely inside, fell
on his face. %

npWENTY-FQUR hours later,
■*- he knew that lie had proved
Marilyn's existence beyond rea-
sonable doubt. He had been ill,
and she had tended him.

"You proved what you wanted
to prove," she told him, when the
worst was over. "But was it
worth it?"

"It was worth it," he said, sit-
ting up in bed. "No wonder whole
philosophies have been founded
on reality. It's the most impor-
tant thing there is to a man."

She shook her head, smiling.

"Merely to you," she said. "So-
litosis naturally affects what mat-
ters most to the individual. But
we needn't talk about that."

There was a warmth, a kind-

HAILUCINATION ORBIT

157

ness about her that none of the
phantoms could ever have had,
because they were all reflections
of himself. He had made them
what they were.

"How did you avoid solitosis?"
he asked.

She smiled again. "The only
way. There are fifty men and
women in the LionesSj the relief
ship. That number is well above
the critical point. It will still be
a while before they can land a
big ship on this little world, but
all the time while they're maneu-
vering, they'll be keeping me sane
by being there. I know they are,
you see. When you do, you'll im-
prove/*

Ord relaxed. Long, involved ex-
planations were never satisfying.
It was the simple explanation that
one could instantly believe.

"That will take a while," he
said. "I don't mind how long it
takes."

He saw the same shadow pass
across her face.

"Tell me," he said quietly.

"Look at me."

He looked. She was strong, qui-
etly beautiful. She still wore her
tunic and slacks. He even saw,
with faint regret, that, while she
wore no wedding ring, there was
a white band on her finger where
one would have been.

"Yes?" he urged.

"I didn't realize until you
talked of a nonexistent girl/ 1

Marilyn said quietly. "I was real,
yes, but not your picture of me."

"No, it's not so terrible," Mari-
lyn went on. "Almost everything
was as you thought. It's natural
to send a doctor first to visit any
sick person. Km a doctor, and I
was a girl once. But that was
forty years ago. And you had to
make me young and beautiful."

With an effort, Ord laughed
naturally. "Was that all? You
had me thinking — "

The old doctor didn't hear him.
She wasn't thinking of her cour-
age in coming to him alone, but
remembered that all doctors take
risks.

"It was pleasant to be a girl
again," she said reflectively. "I

could see myself in your eyes,

and — almost — I was young again.
I like you. If it hadn't been too
completely ridiculous, I'd have
fallen in love with you."

"As I grow old in the next few
weeks, Ord," she told him, "you'll
be recovering- It will show you
how your case is progressing.
When you see me as I really am,
you'll be all right."

He put his hand gently on her
-arm. He was thinking of her cour-
age in coming on ahead of the re-
lief ship, alone, becaus he might
be able to help a man who could
not be quite sane.

"I think," he said, "I see you
now as you really are."

— J, X. 1WINTOSH

158

GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION

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D 1AVI rOlTAMI Im« SM0 {taffe*. F«f\ fa,i .^ w9 *»,
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SAVE, Send $3.95 WITH THIS COUPON, and we will pay ship-
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Mn FISHTAIL STYLE
with UiarriOthyxi gem

1 emtmt .

2 i-mm i*
A carat h
4 furnift

St 2. 00
Ktt,00
SHI.CIO

1 I 1*00

New Amazing Wonderful Gem

DIAMOTHYST 5, «ou Aba; fa,

DIAMONDS

*. MOIIFRN CYPSY
uiih Ihiirwuhyyl gem

J rural *«5, -L.ru

2 earn I » IUMM)

a rarni» I lU.iM!

JEWELERS
ATTENTION:

it ii to vour ben
#fii to have one
of +h# amoirng
Diamothy>t Gertl*
in your shop lor
Comparison with

a diamond

WARNING: A
great many deal- 4
ers hov# mistaken
thSs gem lor o
r«al diamond in
making loam on
rings*

Wt recomnflnd
you ord^r o
Dicmet ■ y»t now.

S24 Per Carat

11 jirdor than zircon*- keep thoir brilliants fore^-er.

Diariiotlv/stis ^onrheAkA'/scAleof hardness,, and diam ■ 'j are .g.

The greatest gem discovery m history, which s$. the result of experi-
mentation of one of America's largest corporations* brings you
Diaiwtbjtti a gen) with a refractory index higher than, and i
dispersion factor greater than a Mamwd Its refractory index is
abput io% higher than dtamswds. lc may seem fantastic to you as it
did to us., hut now you can have «a ££tw that look** like & diamond and
^s actually jar more tritliant than a diatK&nd t and even many ?awn-
"brokers have rots taken it for a real diamond Yet you can have it at
about i/^o the cost of a genuine diamond. (Buy a Diamothysi
instead of a diamatia and save the difference.)
Only $za a cant, tax included. The hundreds of dollars rhu* saved
will go far toward buying a home. YOU an enjav the beamy and
prcsligc* and the envy cf your friends .vtth a stcne that only an
expert working under a gwd fight can detect as not being a real
(tiammd

f.PitiNCtSS EARRINGS

llrji^- iwtiMltr- ilti:-.if jiinn Hen

*tf III** «**w w»U|C-ly|i* i^ft""!}
iruiuuli-ojl (lal I* v* * ;^y "o put
■rti Jitl ?rO **»ry *i#iifur*jble 1o
->*f-iir. IH-pi*:^ -.^iif* in your
nfvtow if- jihj *tt-»h ^■•.■ffitHt* for
litrpfrif *H#T Tun*- in iKtfTfri

*<*■ $84.00 pair

MONEY BACK GUARANTEE
WITH A 30-DAY TRIAL IN
YOUR
HOME.

^OU ARE THE SOLE JUDGE

«. GOLD CHAIN AND

GROSS * id 9 LHnmO-
rhyat gems §?3*M

COMPARE:

REFRACTORY

INDEX OF

DIAMOTHYST

IS BETWEEN

2 67 aid 2.90*

as compared to

DIAMONDS 2.42.

DISPERSION OF

D AMOTHYST

RANGES

BETWEEN

0.155 and 0.205

in comparison

to 9m

DIAMOND'S

0.025

In tfci* odv«fmerrt#n», yov *r» ev

io&% cash kfiwd without

QUESTION!

Ycu tc* erdtr Hh*r« ir 1, 2, 3, 4, 3

— vp *fl 10 Coraf* ot $24 a corot,

Tali* the price pf th « ring) jJhown
above in th# 1 ceror tize and add
$24 for #o<K cddHrOial caiof yot
wa»t. OROER TODAY,
DON'T D€UY!

A beautiful tngagrmfifi rinp made with a
Ditimrftliyst presented to any girl wilJ inspire her
devotion. You can buy many ihings voili ihr
hundreds of dollars thus fiavnl. Kach Diamothysl
isperferlly c«U wiih full 58 fact-ts jmt brilJlaiiB
£lone. Legally we oaiihoi refer to the Diamolhysl
as a diamomly &o we ask you to order in the 3 most
popular diamond bhapes — namelv th* rou^ni or
BKILLlANTiihe oblong or EMtlKALD and the
oval or JMff{ll//S£ciib.

Tou may order th<rs* gfms for scttins by your local,
friend U\ irustworthy jf**«4*T p who will In* djbfl lo vrrifj
jour purchase,, or y%m can nnl^r thrm in ih# jTHM«nifi^%
flhnwn above-

tf. BOX STYLE
vith Hiartiaf/iyse

1 «»rai . #60.09

2 carat* 81.00

3c«rdl» IOO,00

FREE

There ^s no charge for mount-
ing Dwmothyste in Yojr Jewelry

— thev will be mounted absoluti'tv

FREE!

■ ^

REGAL GEM CO., Dept.12 318 Market St., Newark, New Jersey

Us! IMffl** ru*h n\y l^leelion of f*l A^WITll li^T prttm u« 1 hu<r ind i .uird h^lov-- If not

■ l-r Ii if h I ill. I mM> rrlUrh Inriia 1#ii1*iiii IiIiIjiih Ii i r full r* Iqir-ij- u , |"m.'*i .ji. ■-.

HtlUNTCIl HHMSs

n A. 1 (jroL Liamo«h>*t Fi^litaU ni *l^**t in I l-kl. nlilir gold itiouniEim , r «M .«« ^* ■♦ 12.00
D B- I !***■ Wrt*h-»J* *:?p*> *ih !iMA1<»J||>Hl Om *i-l in |4-kl.

Mliitr nr >rll*w ^oS'J rUGUlU i 9*£ ... ^A.t.OO

D <"- I IJMUII IVhMi-h. KarrinKH tHtJKI

H Ii 1 <*r;it I "in molh> ^l n^l in innnrulirw- Ht « Sr^lr wliilir-or ^r-llov* rwIiI himiiiiii^ |oU.03

U K. CdiaOiKinMnl Cr«Mi wjih9 Uiamot h* >l On'* . ... #75.00

i^endnnt ■with tof«*<"liaiii, t inrnl Hi^ifuM ln»i • ""ly ( . . J'i'.-iu

M<:il VEHfelTIUNAL IAKV| j|f, B |tKV i>ihv«aon rowlel

fcACH \DOITJONAL I. A HAT >U-
,\0T£z A IS drpotit muii arrr.m/idrty wrft arrffr. Alii r>r.rri rm irirlliJvIr

•l;1e ■» *hc
L! 2 », Vji (14.00

U 3 f'.«rai fn'.OO, ric

IO^ TO MFAMHI FI*GEit SIZt

<» Cut flal sttff rardlx'^ni into a long nit
ru^ w^dge Take nnp ihjj I'M ancr is noi bent
(2i Slip ll «%** raxrjv 4-iuJ u4 rard until U
■ *Uipi — do nui (orre I>iav> Imet al bt>tb wilr*
of nrtp St-n.1 laf the ta'dhojird E^ not &end
%aut own ring, nor uw btrmi *o mea^urt

N4ME

crnr „.„„,.„., ........... . B9f ?»n* B

cair.

D Frttrl^M- §5 Iwil|p«y

XOTFz ifyvu iinn r t kniiwtinM *4a«% i^n«4 I iin i*rjp ofpapvr.

1 rlfcll.>«* full

Fannin bAUa t -r phj»po«lBS«- SENT ON APPROVAL fpSce, iend p««ta^« pr«paiiJ.

*- - —

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Full text of "Galaxy Magazine (January 1952)"

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